


Hard Luck And Trouble

by salt_n_pepa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: As canon compliant as this can be haha, Bucky has more than one sibling, But Not Much, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Catholicism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Some OC characters in the background and one in the foreground
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salt_n_pepa/pseuds/salt_n_pepa
Summary: Life's never been one to go easy on Bucky so he shouldn't be surprised when it knocks him down just after he's gotten back up, over and over again. No matter what he does, the good things in his life leave or go sour. But there's only one thing he can't live without, one thing that would never leave him, and one thing he's sure he's going to ruin.A continuation of my other fic, Virtues of the Mother, but can be read on it's own no problem.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

The razor scraped harshly against his scalp. It was too dull to the job they wanted it to, especially on Bucky’s thick hair. But in a way, he was glad to see it gone, finally. He watched in the warped mirror as his dark locks were clipped and shaved. The boy in the chair next to him got cut badly. His barber started shaving at a more even pace.

“Back,” said the barber. Bucky threw his bald head back. The barber lathered his face and started in with the same dull razor. Bucky wondered if the barber ever fantasized about just cutting him, or any of the other boys open. Putting them out of their misery.

“Up,” said the barber. Bucky stood and was replaced by another enlistee. He joined the line of men and boys waiting to be measured, weighed, and sprayed for lice. His friends, friends who’d already been deployed, said they were weighed in their shorts. Bucky felt cheated shivering down the line completely bare.

He weighed an amount of pounds they wouldn’t tell him, he was a certain amount of inches tall but they didn’t tell him that either. After they sprayed him and nine other boys down for lice, he moved on to collect his new uniform. A tan shirt, heavy pants, and even heavier combat boots.

He got the top bunk. The guy he ended up paired with was too big to get on the top bunk. Bucky preferred it that way. They dressed as properly as they knew how, organized their footlockers as best they knew how, and made their beds in the same way.

“Listen dipshit, I’m not your mammy, I’m not gonna teach ya how to make your fuckin’ bed!” screamed the drill sergeant as he tore up one recruit’s bed. Bucky was in no hurry to be on the receiving end of Sarge’s anger. Though, it was beyond him how five more grown men could fail to make a damn bed.

Sarge warned them of the hard work ahead of them all, shouted the lights out, and slammed the heavy metal door to the barracks. The guy on the top bunk next to him, Stevenson, cried.Bucky’s jaw clenched with each sob Stevenson allowed them all to hear. They _all_ felt like crying, they _all_ wanted to go home, but they _all_ knew better than to cry. But no one said a word. They let him cry and eventually he cried himself to sleep.

 

 

 

She called it being born by a dark star. She said the morning of his birth the sky was cloudy and grey and no sun peeked through. And in the night the moon didn’t rise and the stars were all gone. That’s what she said anyway. James’s father told him it was superstition. Mysticism that didn’t belong in his mind. They’d argue and she’d point to his dark hair, and his grey colorless eyes.

His mother, light brown curls, and blue eyes. His father, dark blond, and green. The two bore five children. A girl, two boys, James, and his younger sister Rebecca. None had the dark hair and baron eyes that James inherited. His mother saw that as proof, proof that he was dangerous and cursed. By the time he turned five she no longer said dangerous, omen, or devil. She said ‘different’. She said ‘outlier’. Her words may have softened but her thoughts didn’t.

Tommy was older than him by two years. Barely. James stuck to his heels in the first confusing years of wandering the neighborhood with the local boys. The older boys teased Tommy about him. James remembered that. They’d call his mother words that Tommy told him not to repeat. When he was four, a boy James’s age asked in earnest if he’d been adopted. It didn’t matter that their faces were identical to the other kids. All they saw were the differences.

By the time Tommy was seven, he was off to school. James had to make his own name for himself with the kids on his block. Those years spent defending his very existence to the boys that lived around him thickened his skin. Thicker than a five year old boy should’ve had. Nothing phased him. The other boys liked that, they flocked to him. James felt like royalty then.

It didn’t last. James didn’t know that about the world yet, that things like that come quick and go quicker. When the boys on his block, him included, turned six they were all enrolled for their first year in grammar school, him excluded. A quirk of having four siblings was that sometimes, money didn’t stretch as far as it needed to. Tommy started school a year late, James would, and Rebecca would too no doubt.

“It’ll be fine, James. All the kids that’ll be in your class are from our parish, you’ll know them all,” reassured his mother. She’d never been all that reassuring. Not with him anyway.

His brother, Tommy, gave him similar pep talks which meant the world. Tommy understood him when no one else would. It was out of necessity. Their two sisters shared a room. Their eldest brother, got his own room. He and Tommy shared a room. The mattress scraped down both walls. The closet had no space for the door that was ripped from it’s hinges when James was born. They couldn’t share those tight quarters and not understand everything about each other.

“I’m nervous,” sniveled James the summer after his seventh birthday.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll make new friends.”

“I liked my old ones.”

“You just liked not havin’ to explain your looks to nobody anymore. Well we’re grown now,” said Tommy from his lofty nine years old. “No one’s gonna laugh at ya for not quite lookin’ like the rest ‘a us. It waddn’t funny then and it ain’t funny now.”

“It’s easy for you to say when no one’s lookin’ at you like ya don’t belong,” mumbled James.

“Quit bellyaching. If you’re so worried, shave your head and close your eyes.”

 

 

 

St. John’s Grammar. According to Sister Catherine, it’d been around for decades. And it showed. James followed the other kids to wherever it was he needed to be. Tommy promised to walk him but the two of them left late and had to run all the way over.

James begged, pleaded, cried until his mom bought him new shoes and a new coat for school. The night before school he practiced tying them. Today they were squeaking down the tiled corridors of the school. The younger, shorter kids inadvertently guiding him to class turned around a few times. They gaped at the big squeaky giant following them to classroom, praying to the Almighty that he wasn’t in their grade.

He found the classroom thanks to Tommy’s directions. It looked just like all the other classrooms did every Sunday afternoon and yet everything about it felt new. All the faces in the desks were new and confused to see James in there. He knew a few names, a few faces, but there were no friends. He squeaked his way to the back. The only desk left open was covered in scratches and scrapes. James’s thumb traced the ‘B’ scratched into the upper left corner.

If he’d just worn his regular shoes, he wouldn’t have squeaked all morning. If he’d just worn his regular coat, he wouldn’t look so bulky. He stared past the desk down to his bright shiny brown shoes and fought tears. Where were all his damn friends.

“Hey, kid,” whispered someone next to him. James ignored it until his sleeve was tugged along with his arm. The girl next to him looked at him, then pointed to a kid up front. “Is he in the right room?”

The kid looked smaller than Rebecca, a five year old at best. “I guess so.” His voice had a shake in it.

“I hope he’s not lost.” She stared at the kid sitting up front, James stared at her. Strawberry blonde, freckled from head to toe. Glasses no less than an inch thick sat heavy on her nose.

“I’m James.”

“I’m Marnie.”

Marnie was friendless too. Her birthday fell on a weird date. She was nine months older than most kids and only knew about half their class. James ate his lunch with her.

 

 

 

James spent that first year with Marnie at his hip. Having her around gave him what little confidence he had and it paid off. The boys started flocking to him again. They were younger and James was cooler just for being a little bit older. James gave Marnie enough confidence that one day she stood up from her usual lunchroom seat by James and three other boys, and sat in the middle of ring of girls. It took a few sharp jabs about her freckles but she made new friends.

“Make it all flat,” said Marnie. James pushed the bubblegum to the roof of his mouth to flatten it. His hands held the monkey bars they sat on firmly. Marnie loved sitting on the monkey bars, James had visions of himself slipping through and falling. “Then hold it in front of your teeth and blow.”

She demonstrated with a big bubble that burst in James’s face. James positioned the gum in his mouth, just like Marnie said, and blew. He hit her in the face with it, she squealed.

“Ew, James!”

“You’re just a bad teacher,” teased James. Marnie rubbed the spot on her cheek where his chewed gum hit. That sad sight didn’t keep his attention much longer. Behind Marnie’s head, the tetherball spun, slow and low, around the pole. James hadn’t heard anyone come to join them.

He looked past her to see the little guy. The short little kid from their class. His books were at his feet as he guided the ball around. He wasn’t hitting the ball, he was giving it the push it needed to get around the pole. James stared, blank-faced at that little kid. Marnie eventually turned to find the source of his captivated attention.

“Poor kid,” muttered Marnie.

“Do you know ‘im?” asked Bucky. “I mean from before school.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t. I heard he lives a few blocks from me but I’ve never talked to him.”

The ball made it’s last few rounds with the kid’s help. “Who _does_ talk to him?”

She shrugged again. The ball stopped at the end of it’s rope. The kid bent down to pick his books up and heaved them off the ground like they were weights. James didn’t avert his eyes when the kid looked over at him, embarrassed. He ogled him like he was a scientific marvel. For all he knew, a kid that small just might be a marvel.

“Do you know his name?” asked James.

“Of course!” she scoffed. “That’s just mean not knowin’ his name!”

“I never talked to ‘im!”

“Sister Catherine reads it off the roster every day! Shame on you, Barnes.” Marnie climbed down off the monkey bars. James followed.

Steve Rogers. James, even after she told him, knew he’d never paid any attention to that name. He felt he’d heard it for the first time that afternoon. According to Marnie, he lived somewhere in the ether of their neighborhood which encompassed five blocks. He knew that must be true since every kid in school was part of the parish but the kid was small enough to slip through everyone’s fingers. No one knew him.

James asked his friends a few times on their own if they knew one scrap of detail passed the kid’s name. None knew anything beyond that. A year in the grade together and no one knew anything but his damn name.

The only tidbit he learned about him was the fights. He got into fights every day almost. Everyone knew he got picked on by the older boys who thought it was funny but according to a reliable source in James’s class, he fought back. James couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of someone that small fighting _anyone_.

Monkey bars with Marnie after school was a habit. Maybe Steve had always come out and spun the tetherball, but now James saw it. Saw the tetherball move impossibly slow around the pole, watch Steve heave his books up, and watch him leave for home. He never spoke to him.

Not until he had to.

 

 

 

After school with Marnie on the monkey bars proceeded as usual. The cold was just letting up. He and Marnie were in a deep discussion about what comics James might get for his birthday. Tommy promised him at least one but gave no hint about which one. He wasn’t entirely sure what about it caught his attention, but he noticed the tetherball was still. And when he leant past Marnie he saw no Steve.

Marnie turned to see and cocked her head. “He’s always here.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if a kid that size got sick, James. Either way, we’re not his Ma.”

She didn’t quite understand what he meant. But explaining what he meant felt fruitless in the moment so he didn’t. He just let Marnie jump off the monkey bars and start her walk home before the streetlights came on. Bucky lived in the opposite direction and started the opposite way. Started. But he didn’t make it off the asphalt.

If he stood perfectly still, if he didn’t breathe and just listened he could heard laughter. Mean laughter, jeering. The source was the bleachers, he broke into a jog and crossed the baseball diamond to meet the noises. Once he reached third base he could see exactly what he expected to see. Two older boys lorded over little Steve Rogers. One of the boys, with Steve’s books in his clammy fists, stopped his destruction when he saw James. The other kept his grip on Steve Rogers’s collar but held the punch in his fist.

James ran through the dugout to get behind the bleachers. “Leave ‘im alone!” screamed James through a wheeze. One of the boys dropped all of Steve Rogers’s books. He wanted to run but he didn’t, the friend clutching little Steve Rogers by the collar kept him there. Steve Rogers used the boy’s momentary distraction to kick him in the shin. The older boy didn’t look at all hurt, but annoyed. He hurled Steve Rogers to the ground like a pest.

“I know you,” said the older boy. James said nothing. “You’re the Barnes kid, the curse.”

James stammered. Nothing clever ever left his mouth. The boy took one last look at Steve Rogers sprawled on the ground and took a step towards James. His friend, somewhere in the background whimpered something about how they should’ve already been home.

“Yeah if my wife had someone else’s kid I’d call ‘im a curse too,” said the older boy. Nothing James hadn’t heard before but each time it stung and it hurt. And so he kneed the kid in the groin. Tommy showed him that. A quick and dirty way to start, or more often end, a fight. The kid cried while he friend ran down the street in a hurry.

“I’m no accident,” mumbled James with no confidence. He shimmied around the boy on the ground to get to Steve Rogers who hadn’t quite collected himself. Somewhere behind him, the boy limped home while James picked up the papers strewn about by the bullies. Four or five papers in he noticed the designs, the characters drawn on each sheet. He stared too long and the sheet of paper with a man drawn on it was ripped from his grip. He’d never been so close to Steve Rogers. He was bonier up close.“Hi,” offered James.

“I didn’t need any help,” replied Steve with no regard for James.

“Didn’t need — They were finished with you when I came,” snapped James.

“I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t need it,” mumbled the kid as he wiped his cheeks. James rolled his eyes but kept collecting.

“What are these anyway? Drawings?” asked James. The kid snatched the papers James had collected and shoved them into the front cover of his book. “You’re an artist then?”

“You gonna tease me about it too?” spat the kid.

“No,” said James frankly. “I’m James.”

Steve Rogers nodded but didn’t reply.

“Okay. Well we’re in the same class so I know you’re name already,” snapped James.

“You do?” Steve looked up at him with genuine surprise.

“Yeah,” said James. “What?”

“Didn’t think you knew me, that’s all,” said Steve quietly.

“You an artist or what?” James held out a hand and pulled Steve onto his feet.

“I guess,” said Steve.

“They teasin’ you for bein’ an artist?” James took Steve’s book as if it were second nature. Steve let him. He flipped through the drawings stuffed in the front cover.

“Teasin’ me for bein’ small,” said Steve. “That just made ‘em madder.”

James nodded. “We better start walkin’, sun’s goin’ down.”

They lived in the same direction. James kept the conversation up all on his own. He asked Steve everything he wanted to know and nothing was off limits. He would’ve stopped if Steve ever didn’t answer. But he was frank. He was sickly and it probably slowed his growth. He had something called asthma. He said the doctors weren’t sure but they thought that’s what made him so weak. Steve said that, that he was weak.

“Weak kids don’t fight back,” interjected James.

“I never win,” laughed Steve.

“So do you not run on account ‘a your lungs not workin’ right?”

Steve shook his head with a grin. “If you run they never stop chasing. No point in runnin’.”

“Big words for a lil’ kid,” said James. “So is this guy from something or did you make him up?” James handed him the sketch of the man he’d been admiring earlier.

“It’s supposed to be my dad but…doesn’t really look that much like him,” sighed Steve.

“Hey it’s better than anything I coulda done.”

James asked him about only two more drawings he found in his book. It didn’t pain him to let James look through them but he didn’t seem to like answering questions. But James never stopped talking. Steve walked a half step in front of him, leading the way, while James chattered.

Steve lived two streets over from James. Just two streets. He’d never seen the kid before school and he’d been living two doors down from Marcus Flannigan the entire time.

“Where do you live?” asked Steve.

“Two streets over,” replied James. “How come I’ve never seen you? Didn’t you used to hang around with the other kids — down in that clearing behind the Johnson’s house?”

“I was sick when I was little.” He said with a sigh. James had no response for him. “Well…better hurry.” Steve fumbled through his pockets for his house key. “The streetlamps’ll be on soon.”

“Oh, I thought I was comin’ over with you,” said James.

Steve’s eyes widened. He stammered for a few seconds before getting out ‘okay’. James couldn’t help but laugh. He found the key and warned that his mother worked nights and she was asleep. James promised to stay quiet. They took their shoes off in the entry hall and padded up the steps.

In James’s apartment, the upstairs unit housed his and his siblings’s rooms. The upstairs to Steve’s townhome only had three doors. One of the doors was open, just a hall closet. So one door for the bathroom, and one door for one bedroom.

“You share a room?” asked James. Steve shook his head and opened his bedroom door. It was enormous. James couldn’t tell the size just by sight, but he measured it with his own body. Three James long, two James wide. Steve’s bed sat under a window that led to the fire escape. “Wow! This is awesome!”

“Sh!”

“Sorry,” whispered James. “So you don’t even have to share this with anyone?”

“Who would I share it with?” asked Steve with a shrug.

“Why don’t you have any brothers or sisters?” Everyone he knew had at least one and he had four.

“My mom can’t have anymore.”

“But she only had one,” said James from his position on the floor.

“That’s all she could have I guess.” James got bored of his own line of questioning and moved on when Steve mentioned his comic collection

Steve said he normally needed his mom to reach the top shelf where he kept his comics. James asked why he’d keep them so high if he couldn’t reach. Steve shrugged and said they were safer up there. James got Steve on his shoulders to grab the box off the shelf. It took a few tries, Steve couldn’t stop laughing. When he finally did grab them off the shelf, he dropped them like a brick onto the wood floor.

Ten minutes into lying around and going through Steve’s comics, his mother came up. She was an Irish angel in curlers. Surprised to see James on her floor but willing to feed him, that’s all he needed. They washed up for dinner. His mother figured out Steve’d been in a fight, probably by the bruises on his arms, but she didn’t yell at him since James was there. Instead she promised to ‘talk’ to him later. 

It didn’t make sense why Steve was so friendless. He wasn’t mean or whiny or boring. Yes, he was much smaller than the kids his age, which James found out was a year younger than him, but he’d grow. Eventually. Probably.

 

 

 

Only after that dinner at the Rogers’s house did James notice Steve at Mass the following Sunday. He must’ve gone every Sunday just like everyone else all these years. Maybe he was just too small to be seen. James waved to him on their way in. Steve beamed back.

“Who’s that?” asked Rebecca.

“My friend, Steve. He’s in my class.”

“Is he a genius?”

“No, he’s just kinda sick a lot so he’s still small.”

After Mass was spent on the playgrounds of the school while everyone’s parents talked to each other. James and Marnie usually met up and swung around the monkey bars, or joined one of the games of touch football. Marnie who’d grown another inch over Christmas, had an advantage over most of the boys. But he wanted Steve in it this time.

Steve warned he couldn’t play touch football, so James got the other boys to play four square with the rogue basketball they found. It took a few more Masses, a few more weeks, but eventually Steve’s presence didn’t look strange anymore.

Steve had a lot of food allergies and the teachers made him eat his special lunch in the classroom where no one would try and share. James swore on his mother and father he’d never share his food with Steve, and Steve swore he knew better than to take it. His mother had to write him a note of permission before he could join their lunch table. James protected him from anything on his list of allergies which he’d memorized by then.

Between his weak lungs, weak heart, weak immune system, weak muscles, there was a lot for Bucky to try and understand about Steve’s health. He didn’t know what to do if his heart, or his lungs gave out. The least he could do was memorize what he was allergic to. It helped him feel a little less useless when it came to Steve.

The boys called him Steve’s nurse. It embarrassed Steve, James barely ever heard it. Eventually James asked the second-oldest boy, Matthew Donovan, to stop. He wouldn’t, so James made him eat the clay off the baseball field until he cried uncle. That shut him up. Matthew wouldn’t talk to him for four more days until the dust settled and everyone forgot what they were fighting about.

 

 

 

After Marnie went home for the day, Steve and James played on the swings. Marnie had to be home before the streetlamps came on but the two of them were given extra time since their parents knew they’d be together. James gave Steve his initial few pushes before getting on the adjacent swing.

“You know I’ve been thinking,” said Steve, “your name’s not James.”

“Hell do you mean?” laughed James.

“I mean you don’t look like a James,” said Steve.

“Sure I do. That’s my name.”

“What about Jimmy?” Steve wheezed. James was already swinging on par with him, but he wouldn’t speed up knowing Steve couldn’t.

“Sounds like Tommy,” said James. His mother tried calling him Jimmy once, by the time they got him to respond to it, Tommy was also responding to it.

“What’s your middle name?”

“Buchanan,” said James.

“Yikes,” laughed Steve. “Did your parents hate ya?” James stayed silent. Steve coughed and moved on. “Well how ‘bout Bucky?”

“You don’t think it sounds goofy?” James looked over to Steve who was mid-cough but shaking his head. “Well test it out then.”

“Okay. How?” said Steve. He stopped pumping his swing.

“Just say somethin’." 

Steve stayed silent a long time, suppressing coughs and wheezing between each one. James was used to that by now. Eventually he caught himself and strained out, “you’re my best friend, Bucky.”

“I like it,” replied Bucky.

 

 

 

Bucky fell into his chair early that morning. Marnie, seated next to him, giggled. “Tired Barnes?”

“A little,” yawned Bucky. “Where’s Steve?”

“How’m I supposed to know, he lives on your side.”

“Maybe he’s sick today,” muttered Bucky.

“Isn’t that bad news for him?”

“Alright, kids!” said Sister Catherine at the front of the room. Bucky didn’t hear a word she said, he was too focused on Steve’s absence. That was one of the few things he _knew_ about Steve’s health. That it was fragile. If he really was sick, it’d last a long time.

“He was supposed to stay over at my house this weekend,” grumbled Bucky. He preemptively dusted his and Tommy’s room knowing how Steve liked to keep things.

“You don’t even know for sure he’s sick, stop moping,” whispered Marnie with an eye roll.

After Steve missed Tuesday and Wednesday, he knew he was sick. Marnie sounded worried about him when they talked. She offered soup, her mother was a good cook. And she offered, without asking, a free appointment with her father who was a pediatrician. The only thing Bucky could think to do was collect the schoolwork he had to do.

Sister Catherine gave them everything he needed. He and Marnie, after school, spent their time on the monkey bars filling out his times tables. Bucky wrote while Marnie dictated, he could copy Steve’s handwriting better.

“He shouldn’t have homework,” said Marnie between answers. “He should spend his time recovering.”

“He will,” said Bucky.

“Only because we’re cheating,” said Marnie. “When you drop these by, tell him my dad could come see him if he needs it. He’s so small.”

“His mom’s a nurse,” Bucky filled in the last answer, “I think she’s got it under control.”

“Never hurts to have help. You done?” Marnie closed her book. “I need to get home.”

“Thanks for stayin’,” said Bucky. He slid between the bars and jumped to the ground in sync with Marnie. She waved away his thanks and grinned as they went their separate ways. Bucky ran to the Rogers’s.

He knocked on their door but no one answered. He turned the knob and found it to be unlocked so he let himself in. After shedding his shoes and lining them up next to Steve’s he crept upstairs. He didn’t want to wake Steve’s mother. He creaked the door open to find Steve’s mother by his bedside, both of them awake. He’d been silent as the grave for no reason.

Bucky!” croaked Steve.

“Stevie!” replied Bucky automatically.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?” said Steve’s mother. She sounded annoyed with him already so Bucky cut the chase as quick as he could. “Steve wasn’t at school for two days,” said Bucky, his voice caught in his throat. Mrs. Rogers had only ever been a complete, if not worried, angel to him. He didn’t know how to behave when she was angry.

“Sorry, Bucky, but Steve can’t come over on Friday, he’s just too sick,” snapped Mrs. Rogers. She thought he was going to drag Stevie down to his house still, no wonder she was so touchy.

“I figured he couldn’t when he didn’t show on Wednesday,” said Bucky with a laugh. “But my house isn’t goin’ anywhere. I told the teachers you’re really sick and they gave me your homework.”

Steve closed the comic book he was reading. “But I’m sick, I shouldn’t have homework!”

“That’s what _I_ said!” replied Bucky as Mrs. Rogers gave him a spoonful of water. “So I got that girl, Marnie, to do it for you and she told me to tell you she’s sorry you’re sick and that her mom makes good soup if you want it.”

Bucky began rummaging through his bag to find the homework that was marked just for Steve.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, Steve. Don’t drink that water too fast.” Mrs. Rogers left, shutting the door behind herself just as Bucky flopped the papers of Steve’s onto the foot of his bed. He took the chair Steve’s mother had just vacated and began running his hands over the various bottles of medication that sat on the sidetable.

“What do you have?” asked Bucky.

“My mom said it’s a stomach virus.” Steve looked paler than Bucky’d ever seen him. It must’ve been his imagination but he looked thinner than Bucky remembered. His worry must’ve been clear on his face because Steve frowned to match Bucky. “You gonna stop playing with me too?”

“What? ‘Cause you’re sick?”

“Everyone stops hangin’ around me once they’ve seen me sick,” said Steve as he tugged on a loose threat in his quilt.

“Well, I can’t play with you right now but I will once you’re better,” said Bucky. It sounded fair to him. If Steve couldn’t get out of bed Bucky certainly didn’t want to play with him and kill him.

“You promise me?” said Steve.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. So today, during class, Arnold Turner was trying to hit Annie Matthews with his ruler but he accidentally hit Sister Nina and got sent to the office and when he came back he said they hit him with _the paddle_ ,” said Bucky.

“A paddle’s way too much for that!” said Steve with a wet cough.

“Yeah but Sister Nina’s so mean, I bet she looks forward to that kinda stuff.” 

Steve’s congestion was horrible that night. To help clear his chest a bit, Sarah decided to open Steve’s window just before she tucked them in and left for work. Despite Steve being sick, Bucky was staying over almost purely because he’d just never left. Sarah made him promise to get the nearest mother should Steve take a turn. Bucky swore on his life and said goodbye to Sarah.

With the window open, Steve and Bucky were free to play out on the fire escape, or at least Bucky was. Sarah had been very clear in her instructions and Steve was not allowed to leave the bed. So Bucky sat out on the fire escape next to Steve’s bed. Steve had his sketchbook open on his lap with half of Bucky’s face in it.

“Tell me what to draw,” groaned Steve with his croaky voice.

“I don’t know…Draw…a…I don’t know.”

“C’mon, what do you see out there,” said Steve with a cough.

“Just a bunch of stars and houses, Steve…Draw one of the constellations.”

“I don’t know any of ‘em.”

“I do,” asserted Bucky, who had no celestial knowledge. “That’s…Octopus Major.”

“Octopus Major?”

Bucky nodded and reached inside the window to turn the page in Steve’s sketchbook. “Draw it, Octopus Major.”

“What’s it look like?”

“What’d’you think? An octopus!” 

Steve wheezed and began sketching what he thought an octopus might look like while Bucky scanned the stars for inspiration in constellation-creation.

 

 

 

Bucky found out Steve’s birthday was also the fourth of July. The first year he knew him for it, Steve’s seventh birthday, they spent it together. Steve was sick so Bucky gave him the comic book he got him as a gift and sat in the fire escape giving Steve constellations to draw. 

For his eighth birthday, he wasn’t sick. Marnie offered for both of them to go to the barbecue her and her parents went to every year. Bucky turned it down, he had plans already in his head. He bought Steve another comic that year and wrapped it in that morning’s newspaper.

He knocked, Sarah answered. “Oh…Bucky, hi.”

“Hi,” said Bucky. He took a step into the house and Sarah took a reluctant step back. “The fireworks’ll start soon, right?”

“Yes, but Bucky, I don’t think I can go down to the knoll with you. I had to pick up a shift so…maybe it’s better if you two stay in?” offered Sarah.

“The knoll’s only a few blocks over,” countered Bucky. “And he stayed in last year.”

She sighed. Steve came down the stairs, dressed and ready for the fireworks show. Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, you can go but, Stevie, listen. If you feel sick you find a mother out there and tell her to get you to the hospital.”

“I know the drill,” said Steve.

“Thanks, Mrs. Rogers!” called Bucky as the two of them headed out. It was a short walk but short walks were made longer by Steve’s slow pace.

Steve’s allergies had him wheezing the whole walk over. Bucky laid out the blanket he’d brought and ordered Steve to sit. He went to get them both popsicles from the vendor. He rushed to return and sit by Steve who looked a little worse for wear. The grass they sat on wasn’t helping. He handed him the popsicle and started looking around the knoll for a mother capable of taking them to the hospital.

“You okay?” asked Bucky.

“I’m fine,” said Steve. His voice was a little hoarse but it could’ve been worse.

“Tell me if you’re not okay,” said Bucky.

“I’m not gonna break,” said Steve.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Stop being worried, you’re not my mom.”

Bucky groaned and laid down on the blanket. Steve did the same. In seconds they were laughing about something else. To date they’d never disagreed longer than five minutes, neither could stand not talking to the other. Mid-story, the first firework exploded in the sky. Then six more to signify the start of the show.

 “Can’t believe they make such a big deal outta your birthday,” said Bucky. He could hear Steve’s wheezy laughter between each crash of fireworks.

 

 

 

Joseph reeled back and threw the ball, full speed. It damn near knocked the wind out of Bucky but he wouldn’t show it. “See, Stevie? See how he caught it?”

Bucky joined little league over the summer, which meant Steve joined little league. Bucky and his older brother Tommy passed on all the baseball knowledge they had but Steve still couldn’t catch or hit or throw or run or do very much that baseball required. But he didn’t want to quit.

“I saw but my hands to small to get around the ball once it’s in there,” complained Steve.

“That’s what the glove’s for,” replied Joseph. “Alright, Bucky, you try pitchin’.”

They practiced with Steve’s dad whenever his dad was home. Steve dragged him out to the street right after work and just before dinner. Bucky came by for dinner so often that he brought his glove with him every time, knowing they’d practice again in the street.

“Good form, Bucky, but let go of the ball a little later, I think.” It took Bucky a second to decipher what he said. Steve’s father’s accent was much thicker than his mother’s. It was so thick that sometimes Bucky wasn’t sure if he was speaking English.

“Joseph!” called Steve’s mother from the window. “I have to go into the hospital, earlier shift today, nearly forgot, Dear!”

Joseph caught the ball Bucky pitched to him without looking. “That’s all fine.”

“Can ye make dinner without me?”

“Of course, I’m not an eejit!” laughed Joseph. “Get on to work, Love.”

She rushed out of the house, kissed Joseph, then Steve, then Bucky, then ran to her bus stop. They pitched and caught a few more balls. Steve caught a few himself, finally. He still couldn’t throw quite as far as he needed but the season’d just started, they had time to train.

“Alrigh’,” sighed Joseph. He hoisted Steve up and onto his shoulders. Bucky’s dad had to stop doing that a long time ago when he got too big. Steve never got too big. “I think ye’ve earned a dinner out, huh?"

“Where?” asked Bucky.

“Wherever you want.” The way Joseph said it made it sound whimsical. He and Sarah had that way about them that made the daily task of living seem like an adventure. Bucky threw the gloves and the ball inside the house. His mind flooded with suggestions. As a whole, the Barnes’s never went out for dinner. Five kids meant they never did a lot of what other, smaller families got to do.

Bucky took Joseph’s hand and the three walked to the train station. They caught a train down further into town, closer to the water Joseph said.

“Ah you’ve never had clams before!” exclaimed Joseph as Bucky cocked his head at the menu. “Here we’ll get you some clams and if ye’s don’t like it, we’ll trade. Howzat? Waiter! Yer finest clams for these two boys!”

Bucky did like clams. So did Steve. Joseph cracked open each one for them, maybe stole a few here and there. Their table overlooked the dock workers wrapping up for the day. When Bucky’s eyes started to droop, he stared down them. Watching them lift a crate and put it down, lift a crate and put it down, life a crate and put it down.

“Where’s it all goin’?” asked Bucky.

“To whoever it’s supposed ta,” replied Joseph.

“Don’t they get,” Bucky sighed and shrugged, “bored?” 

“That’s the beauty of childhood, Barnes. You don’t worry. When ye’s get older, have your own lives, you’d be glad to find a job like that. A job ye don’t need nothin’ fer. It may look boring up here, but down there it puts food on the table,” said Joseph. “Ah, don’t worry over it for another ten odd years, yes? Finish your clams.”

 

~~~

Bucky curled his fingers through the chain link of the dugout. His eyes squinted in the sun. Marcus Flannigan stood on deck, kicked up dust with every practice swing.

“Easy out!” called the pitcher. The outfielders became infielders, the infielders were practically on the mound. Bucky’s grip on the fence got tighter. He prayed to God and every angel that Steve would at the very least get a hit. He’d stopped praying for him to make it to first at the top of the season.

“Buck, you’re on deck,” said Matthew Donovan behind him.

“I’m not on deck yet, Steve’s gotta hit first.”

“He never makes it to first, why do you even bother worryin’?” He sat back, relaxed, and stuffed tobacco into his bottom lip. “He’s so small the ump can’t tell what’s a strike ’n what’s a ball.”

The rest of the dugout began murmuring in agreement. Bucky didn’t have the energy to launch a full-scale rebuttal so he returned his attention to Steve. Marcus stood on deck stretching out his shoulders, completely oblivious to Steve. Bucky wanted Steve to prove them wrong so badly but he very rarely ever did. If it made _him_ feel this bad, he couldn’t imagine how Steve felt.

“Ball four!” called the ump.

“Ha!” Bucky turned to Matthew. “He made it on base you son of bitch!”

He shrugged. “Fluke.”

Matthew rolled his eyes and handed Bucky his bat. Marcus was a tall kid, a head taller than everyone else, and hitting deep into the outfield was his standard. He was inches behind Steve on their way back to home plate. The only praise Steve got for his run came from Bucky.

After they lined up and shook hands with the opposing team, everyone packed up and headed home. Steve started wheezing in the last inning so they took it slow. Bucky carried both of their bags and fanned Steve with his hat for the first block. After that he had to fan himself.

“What’s eatin’ you? I know we lost ’n all but that was a really good team.” Bucky tugged his hat back onto his big head.

“What’s eatin’ me is that that was embarrassing!” Steve huffed and took his bag off of Bucky’s shoulder. “I walked!”

“That’s what happens on ball four, that’s on the pitcher not you. _He’s_ the one who should be embarrassed.”

“He didn’t throw a single ball the whole game. Just when I got up there.”

Bucky hated when he got like this. In their early days as friends, it made Bucky worry and frantically search to comfort him. But they were going on their last year of grammar school, Bucky knew him well enough to just get annoyed. “You just can’t enjoy anything can ya?”

“What?” snapped Steve.

“You got on base! That’s a win! Why you so focused on the negatives all the time huh?”

“Well that’s easy for you to say!” Steve adjusted the bag on his shoulder a few times. He was too worn out to carry it but Bucky knew better than to offer help when he was in this kind of mood. “You get on base _every time_.”

“Wah wah wah,” mocked Bucky. Steve kicked his shin. Bucky contained the scream and they continued the walk home in silence. Well Steve walked home, Bucky walked to Steve’s house.

“I’m back,” said Steve. He untied his cleats next to Bucky.

“So am I!” replied his dad somewhere deeper in the house. He emerged from his bedroom through the kitchen with a grin. “How was the game?”

“Sucked,” muttered Steve. “I struck out the first four innings and only got on base in the fifth because the pitcher couldn’t pitch to me.”

“Ah, but was it fun?” asked Joseph. Steve shrugged. He rested his chin on his knee and focused hard on untying a tough knot. Bucky looked up to Joseph. When Bucky failed to make him feel better, usually Sarah succeeded. But she was off nursing so Joseph was the fallback. “How’s about you two ride with me to a pickup I have to make before tomorrow?”

“What’re you picking up?” asked Steve.

“Tiles. Part of the offices we’re buildin’. Just the samples to make sure they don’t shatter easy. The job’s not interesting but it’s down there by Coney Island. I’m no’ sayin’ we’ll go in but —“

Bucky never moved so fast. He jumped out of his cleats and onto the stairs, tore his jersey off and threw it down the steps then tripped and fell while trying to do the same to his pants. Joseph laughed loud enough for Bucky to hear but he didn’t care. Since he stayed so much at the Rogers’s, some of his clothes got mixed in the laundry. A shirt here, shorts there. There was always enough left behind for him to make an outfit. He was dressed before Steve even entered the room.

“He didn’t even say we’d go in.” Even Steve, in his sour mood, couldn’t help but laugh at Bucky.

“But we _might!_ Come on get ready!”

They rode in the car, Steve in the middle, Bucky in the passenger’s seat, all the way down to Coney Island. Joseph spent an eternity picking up the tiles. Bucky wasn’t sure they’d make it down to the park before it closed. Joseph assured him they still had hours.

He strapped the boxes of tiles down in the bed of his truck and took Steve and Bucky’s hands. “Luna or Steeplechase?” asked Joseph.

“Luna!” said Steve and Bucky in unison.

They had enough for two rides each. Steve couldn’t handle the bigger coasters, so they rode the smaller one together once, and Joseph let Bucky ride the bigger one alone while Steve stayed on the smaller one. They decided on hotdogs from Nathan’s for dinner and wandered the park until they found the stand. Steve and Bucky could just barely see over the counter as Joseph ordered.

The man at the counter pushed out three hotdogs which Joseph handed off to them. He put his coins down and separated them by value, the man bit each one before thanking him for his business.

The park began to empty so the three of them planted themselves on the beach to eat.

“Views like that, that’s why I love this city,” said Joseph to the ocean.

“Mr. Rogers,” began Bucky with a mouthful of hotdog, “why did that man bite the coins?”

“To make sure they were real,” said Joseph. “It’s an old pirate’s trick that a real coin’ll take an imprint. ‘Course that’s not so much true these days.”

“Oh…Never seen ‘em do that,” replied Bucky.

“You haven’t? You seen them hold up the bills to the light though right?” said Steve, bewildered. Bucky shook his head. “They do that all the time.”

“They do? But I’ve never seen it.”

They both turned to Joseph. He looked tired. He rubbed his face and scratched down his jaw.

“You’ve never seen it, Bucky, ‘cause you and yer parents are English. If you’re Irish, or more importantly, ye _sound_ Irish…” he trailed off. Bucky dropped his eyes from Joseph to the sand beneath him. Steve shut up, and clenched his bony hand around his knee.

“Mr. Rogers…” began Bucky.

“Aye?”

“Why do they…Why do people not like Irish people?” It was as good a time as any to ask.

Joseph laughed. “People tend to hate what they fear. And they fear anything new, fear it’ll upset anything good they’ve already got. They’ll hate anyone new, not just the Irish. And anyone different, just you look how they hate the coloreds.”

“How’s that fair—how’s that—Bucky’s family isn’t from here either! He’s English!” cried Steve. Joseph put an arm around him.

“They forget. They came here so long ago they forget this land isn’t theirs. One day they’ll’ve forgot we were new. They’ll forget any of us was new. But ’til then you’ve got ta deal with bullies.” Joseph squeezed Steve’s arm. Steve didn’t look any happier.

“You should yell at the man—the man who bit your money. Every man who’s ever checked your money.”

“Pick your battles, Steve.” Joseph paused for a moment, watching Steve’s jaw clench and unclench just as Bucky was. “Listen here the both of ye’s.” Steve wouldn’t turn his head away from the waves. Bucky scooted closer. “Lot a people in this world’re full ‘a hate. And ye’ll never be able to convince all of them of the truth. But a man’s got certain rights that are God-given and God-taken. Any man tries to take those rights from you, you say no. And you fight ‘em til you get what you need. You can’t convince someone to love you, but you can demand respect. Look at the coloreds. Freein’ themselves from bondage, takin’ what’s rightfully theirs. I’m sure in my lifetime I’ll see them get the vote, just like I saw your mother get it. It’s a long fight, Stevie, you’ve got to know when to save your energy.”

Bucky stared silent out onto the water.

“You should’ve yelled at him,” said Steve. He stood, said something about throwing away the basket his hotdog came in and wandered off.

Joseph sat back on his elbows and sighed. “Bucky, you watch out for him. He’d fight God if he could.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

 

“Why do people call you a curse?” asked Steve. The two sat on Steve’s fire escape, Bucky listed off fake constellations for him to sketch.

“Who calls me that?” asked Bucky. His legs swung over the edge, Steve’s were crossed underneath him.

“My mom says people do…I only ever heard it from Matthew,” said Steve. He turned his pencil sideways and started blocking shadows. That’s what he called it anyway, said it was the artist term, Bucky was sure he made it up.

“Well,” Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess since my mom and them did, it caught on.”

“But why’d they do it?”

He grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged. “You seen any other Barnes’s with this hair? These eyes?”

“No but…Matthew’s hair’s darker than yours and he’s not cursed.”

“It’s not ‘cause it’s dark,” said Bucky. “It’s ‘cause it’s different. I’m the only one out of five. My mom said I was a curse…now she says I _have_ a curse. That’s why she said I needed Saint Jude as my saint. Said my whole life would be full ‘a desperate situations.”

“Do you feel cursed?” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave the paper.

“Sometimes,” mumbled Bucky. “Last year there was an alley cat I was feedin’. I wanted to train it and keep it. I fed ‘im for two weeks, came out one day and he was run over.”

“That’s not your fault though.”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I don’t know then…I feel like bad stuff’s always around the corner for me…like I can’t tell the difference between regular life and the curse.”

“Doesn’t that mean there’s no curse?”

Bucky laid down on the grate of the fire escape, his legs still dangling over the edge. “That’s what it _wants_ me to think. Get me off my guard then _wham!_ I get hit by a bus.”

“Hit by a bus huh?” said Steve dismissively.

“It’s gonna get me in a big way, everything it does is big,” said Bucky. “The curse only curses me _bad_. Like when it broke my arm. Or the cat. Or when my grandpa died.”

“How could that possibly be your fault?” He stopped drawing then.

“Trust me, it was. I was the last to talk to ‘im.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You sound like a loon, Barnes.”

Bucky said nothing. Nothing could convince him he wasn’t destined for something horrible, not even Steve’s taunting. He named a few more fake constellations, this time he even made up fake characters painted in the sky, Steve drew them expertly.

 

 

 

“He’s rounding first! Second! Third! He’s slidin’ home! He just won the world series and the crowd goes wild!” screamed Steve from the pitchers mound where he sat sketching. He imitated the crowd while Bucky scraped his whole thigh sliding into home. “Bucky Barnes, the first ball player ever to hit a homerun every inning! How does it feel?!”

Bucky stood up and panted. “I’d like to thank God, my mom, my best friend Steve Rogers, and uh…Jesus or some shit,” coughed Bucky.

“You’ve gotta work on your post-game interview. You gotta bring the game to life over the radio!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. School ended an hour ago. Marnie left half an hour ago. Bucky’s mother was coming from home with a lasagna to hand off to Bucky before work. Bucky was supposed to go by Steve’s house to drop it off. His mother said she would’ve done it herself but every time she went by the Rogers’s house she never stopped talking and she couldn’t be late for work. He also specifically told not to tell that to Steve, but he did. They were staying later than usual anyway. It was the last day of grammar school and everyone, despite living within walking distance of each other, had to say goodbye.

“She almost here?”

“Ah, keep sketchin’,” said Bucky, brushing him off. Steve stood and folded up his sketchpad. Sarah bought that for him two weeks prior, he’d already filled it up save four pages. Joseph promised he’d start him on real paint soon enough. He secured the leather tie around it and went and sat on the bench in the dugout. Bucky caught his breath and joined him. “Not in the mood to draw?”

He shrugged. “I’ve drawn enough… Buck, are you gettin’ nervous?” said Steve.

“‘Bout what? ‘Bout junior high?” Bucky laughed. “No reason to be worried ‘bout that. Tommy said it’s not as hard as everyone says.”

“You never know how hard school work is! It’s all so easy to you. But that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” asked Bucky. He kicked up the clay that dusted the floor of the dugout.

“I mean…I’ll still be your friend, right? The new school isn’t gonna…You won’t get sick of me, right?”

Bucky laughed. That’s all he could do. Steve nervously joined and absorbed all of the little slaps that came from Bucky’s hysterical laughter. “Steve! I’m a bad penny! I’ll die before I leave you alone.”

Steve exhaled and laughed in earnest this time. They quieted down then for a moment. Bucky wanted to fill the silence with one thing in particular. Had been for days. So he blurted it out then.

“Did you hear Marnie kissed Matthew Donovan?”

Steve nodded. “Matthew told me. You jealous?”

“No,” said Bucky as a reflex. He never thought about her, not like that. “I just can’t believe she beat us.”

“Beat us to what?” said Steve.

“I’ve never kissed anyone, have you?” Steve shook his head. Bucky gestured at nothing. “So she beat us.”

“So what?”

“I wouldn’t care but she talks about it like she’s so much older now,” said Bucky. “Like she knows so much more, and I know she doesn’t!”

“Well you don’t _know_.”

“I can guess,” snapped Bucky. “You shouldn’t be worried about me ditchin’ you in junior high, worry about Marnie. She’s off in her own world.”

Steve didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead out onto the baseball diamond and looked at nothing in particular.

“Did he say what it was like?” asked Bucky.

“He said it was nothin’ special,” said Steve.

“That’s what Marnie said too,” Bucky chewed his bottom lip. “They must’ve done it wrong. Everyone does it all the time, it must be some kinda fun.”

Steve turned his head to face Bucky. He could feel him staring but he held off on looking for a few extra seconds. His cheeks flushed pink once their eyes met.

“What?” said Bucky.

“We’re both thinkin’ it,” said Steve. And they were. “It wouldn’t count. Not for real. Wouldn’t be a sin I don’t think.”

“Yeah?” Bucky uncrossed his arms. He thought for a moment. “Alright, but close your eyes.”

“Oh, seriously?” said Steve. Bucky’s hands waved as he stammered. Steve was the one to suggest it, he wasn’t allowed to be surprised. But instead of dealing with Bucky’s anxiety he closed his eyes and ignored him.

Bucky’s palms damn near soaked through the knees of his pants. His stomach was turning over itself, his heart was a few beats away from cracking his ribs. If this happened every time, he couldn’t image why anyone would do it twice.

“What’s the hold up?” Steve cracked an eye open just to heckle him. Bucky tried to say something, tried but couldn’t. Steve rolled his eyes, shook his head, and hurled himself forward.

Marnie was wrong. How could she feel nothing? He was far from nothing, he was at the opposite end of the spectrum. The whole world was unravelling and locking into place the longer Steve stayed on him. Like he grabbed a live wire and was holding on for dear life.

Then Steve pulled away. He shrugged.

“ _James Buchanan!_ ” screeched a familiar voice somewhere in the direction of the diamond. Bucky whipped around to see his mother, lasagna in hand, heading towards him with the wrath of God in here eyes.

“Shit,” muttered Bucky as he and Steve scrambled away from each other. But they had nowhere to go, they were trapped in the dugout that Bucky’s mother was soon at the mouth of.

“What in God’s name were you doing?!”

“We were just—“ began Bucky, completely unsure of how he was planning to end that sentence.

“No, don’t say it! We’re headed home right this instant!” She grabbed his collar and jerked him from his spot on the bench. “You too, Steven Grant Rogers, I’m taking you back to your mother!”

She dragged them back. Her grip on Bucky’s collar tightened with each block, each extra minute she was late to work. On the way, she threatened to send him to a monastery, she threatened to tell his father, she threatened to tell _the_ father. In all her threatening, she couldn’t hear Bucky’s mostly-fake explanation as to what happened. It was a half baked idea about being dared. Flimsy, but better than the truth.

After they stepped foot in the Rogers’s house it was blur. Bucky and Steve never left the entryway. Bucky’s mother yelled a lot. He didn’t listen to most of it, he was focused on his fake explanation, focused on rounding the edges out on it. He interjected a ‘we were dared’ at some point. He wasn’t sure he’d been heard and he didn’t care anymore. The embarrassment was overwhelming, the shame was overwhelming. He wanted to cry or throw up or scream, or some combination of the three.

Eventually, Steve’s mother calmed Bucky’s mother down and sent her on her way. Then she told them to wash up for the cookies she’d made. Bucky didn’t want the cookies she set out in front of him. His stomach churned still. Not in the same way as earlier. Earlier it made him feel giddy and invigorated, now he felt heavy and hurt.

But Sarah took a big bite of one of the cookies. And Steve followed suit. So Bucky joined.

“Why’re you both so quiet?” Sarah’s upbeat tone betrayed the weight of the situation.

“We were dared!” screamed Bucky, surprising even himself.

“By who? Weren’t you alone?” said Sarah with a calm voice. Bucky hoped his mother hadn’t thought through that plothole and was horrified that Sarah had. She knew there was no dare, no peer pressure, nothing but themselves had caused this mess. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We just wanted to see what it was like,” murmured Steve. He’d blown their cover. Though technically, Sarah had never bought their cover.

“That’s okay, it’s not a crime,” said Sarah with a laugh. Despite being bright red, Bucky looked up at her to gauge what the hell was happening. It was a sin what they did, no matter how normal it felt, it was a sin and Sarah had never been one to laugh off sin.

“But…Mom said—“

“Forget what you’re mother said,” interrupted Sarah. “It’s no crime, it’s no sin, to wonder. You didn’t mean anything by it but wondering what all the hype was right?”

“Right,” murmured Steve and Bucky in broken unison.

“So what’s the harm?”

“My mom said she’d make me live with monks,” said Bucky. He wanted Sarah to be right, wanted to believe it was no big deal and God wasn’t going to smite him where he sat but it went too far against the grain. It didn’t compute that he might not be punished.

“You’re not going to live withthe monks. Your mother’s just worried about you — about you both. She doesn’t mean to be scary and mean. Just…don’t tell her about this kind of stuff. Come to me instead.”

“So…we’re not in trouble?” asked Bucky cautiously. Typically asking that question only made things worse but Sarah nodded and grinned. And that grin infected both Bucky and Steve. He felt ten pounds lighter and was sure Steve felt the exact same way. Sarah left them to it and they both hustled upstairs into Steve’s room to get their gloves. Bucky had a habit of leaving his glove at Steve’s house and he was more thankful today than ever that he didn’t have to go home to get it.

“I thought your mom was gonna kill us right there in the dugout,” mumbled Steve.

“Hey I’m still stayin’ with you tonight right?” said Bucky, worried he knew the answer.

“Yeah! You gotta make up some more constellations for me, I haven’t drawn in _days_. C’mon, Marcus is waitin’ for us.”

Bucky was miles away the rest of the day while the four of them practiced. Steve couldn’t pitch for shit and was practicing hitting with Marcus. Bucky was supposed to be fielding but Matthew Donovan was also fielding and, if he was being honest, Steve didn’t need two fielders so he didn’t feel bad about spacing out. He always felt guilty, his eldest brother said that came with the territory for Catholics, but he felt worse in that moment. He felt worse than he’d ever felt after punishment, all because he didn’t feel bad.

He didn’t do anything wrong, Sarah Rogers, in her infinite wisdom, told him so. And it didn’t feel wrong, maybe it was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong. The guilt of not having guilt was the worst, heaviest type of remorse he’d ever felt.

But Steve looked light, looked like the guilt already ran it’s course. Could just be his dark star. The same one that gave him his colorless eyes and killed his cat. That same one twisted him all up. 

“Get outta your own head!” said Matthew after fielding a ball that went straight to Bucky.

“Sorry—”

“You’re always gone—always thinkin’, Barnes. Not surprised you get lost in that gigantic head ‘a yours,” teased Matthew.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so it's clear, the chapters will alternate between Bucky's childhood/adolescence and his time at bootcamp. So the next chapter is back in Brooklyn, the chapter after that is in camp, hence the discrepancy in length. Anyway feel free to comment it keeps me alive :)

 

“I already forgot what comes next,” confessed the man to Bucky’s right, Randalls. The first few days of bootcamp were a lot of running, a lot of carrying, a lot of crawling. It was only then, on the twelfth day, that they practiced shooting. Well, not so much shooting as gun maintenance with the promise of target practice in the near future. But they called it shooting to keep morale up.

The Colonel running the camp demonstrated how to take apart, clean, and reassemble their rifles. Bucky watched, sure, they all watched. But none of them had ever touched a gun before. Colonel Philips assured them every other batch of recruits nailed it within the second day and if they didn’t they were behind. Randalls fumbled with his gun in the dirt. The barrel wasn’t even pointing the right direction. Help wasn’t allowed but Bucky mimed enough for him to figure out what went wrong. Mimed a little too much.

“Private Barnes! Do not assist your fellow man! You think when the enemy’s rainin’ down bullets on your camp you’ll have time to fix up your gun and Private Randalls’s?! He’s gotta learn, same as you!” shouted Sarge. Sarge had a name too. Bucky never knew it, everyone called him Sarge.

“Sir, yes, sir!” shouted Bucky as a reflex. Sarge strode over to him, took his gun, and dismantled what little progress he’d made on it. The work he put into polishing each nook and cranny for inspection was lost somewhere in the reddish dirt of the camp grounds.

“Do it again, Private.”

The other privates were far behind him even then. He cleaned every inch of his rifle and still had a lead on most of the guys. They weren’t going to figure out how to put the damn gun together by trial an error, everyone in the squadron was stuck. But Bucky remembered. He put his rifle back in place, piece by piece, slowly and carefully. Demonstrating to the men without ever looking up from his lap where the gun lay. He could feel the eyes on him and he didn’t dare meet ‘em.

“Ah so’s that you finished, Private?” said Colonel Philips.

“Sir, yes, sir!” replied Bucky.

“First in the class,” said Philips. He invaded the circle of soldiers and guns and strode to Bucky. “On your feet.”

Bucky sprung up, gun pressed close to his side. Philips eyed him up and down. He stood nose to nose with Bucky. Bucky had his last growth spurt four years prior and was taller than most everyone in his neighborhood now. But Colonel Philips still had a half inch on him.

“Well, boy, seems like the squadron’s lost with you.”

Bucky didn’t know to respond. It didn’t sound like sarcasm but it didn’t sound like praise. So he stayed silent. Philips kept staring, so Bucky kept holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Philips whipped around to face the other men. “Now I know, you don’t mean to tell me, that not a one of ya but Private Barnes remembered my instructions.”

“Sir, no, sir!” rang the nervous chorus of semi-dismembered guns.

“I said I know you didn’t all watch me,” he pointed to the pop up tent where the demonstration had been, “slave away over a rifle in there! Only to come out here and fuck around with your dick’s in your hands!”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“So one of you shitheads better tell me why! Why is Private Barnes the only one of you to fix the gun up?!” The soldiers let deafening silence fill their circle rather than respond to Colonel Philips. Philips eventually dropped his tense shoulders, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do, listen up! Since Private Barnes has proven to me that this squadron can do better, we’re gonna push our deadline up!” He took a pause and scanned everyone’s faces. He spit in no one in particular’s direction before continuing. “I want you all disassembling and reassembling your guns in four minutes maximum by tonight! If you shitheads need help you know who’s responsible for you now.” He shoved a finger in Bucky’s chest to emphasize his point.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Get!” Philips shoved his way past Bucky who exhaled once he was sure he’d gone. The other men glared at him. He earned that. He got a good view of Phillip’s demonstration and he’d always had an eye for mechanics, he had a leg up. And all his showing off got the whole squad on a time crunch that none were sure they could meet.

“Well Private, if yer such a good teacher start teachin’!” shouted Sarge.

He wouldn’t offer his help. It was demeaning and patronizing to ask a group of grown men if they remembered the instructions. He sat down slow, staring at the ground, and hoped to God they could feel his remorse. They continued in silence for a few beats before Randalls leaned over to him.

“Have I got the barrel goin’ the wrong way, is that what it is?” muttered Randalls.

Bucky nodded. That was the best help he’d provide the team. Only if they asked and only if he could answer in few or no words.

They were dismissed for lunch. Most of them couldn’t elbow to the front within the allotted fifteen minutes and the only food they got was what they could carry out with them undetected. A few of the men had bread rolls, Bucky saw one of the older privates with a wad of the mystery meat shoved into his pocket and soaking through. “They’ll never suspect,” laughed the recruit when Bucky caught his eye.

The rest of the day was spent disassembling and assembling the rifles. An hour in, everyone memorized all the how to’s, no one hesitated anymore. But they all still had to get their times down under four minutes. Stevenson was the quickest in the bunch holding steady at four minutes ten seconds. Most everyone was close behind him.

Bucky must’ve asked for the time every third second. Each passing minute spent practicing felt futile. None of them would get in under four minutes with one day’s practice, it just couldn’t be done.

At seven on the dot, or nineteen hundred, Colonel Phillips rolled back around to their unit. “Fall in!” They did. “Line up, we’re doing this one on one.”

They lined up haphazardly, as quick as they could, in no particular order. One of the youngest recruits, not a day over eightteen, Hopper, was first in line. Bucky could feel the anxiety radiating off of him from his place in line six people back.

“You first, Hopper?” said Phillips. Bucky closed his eyes and hung his head. Hell’d freeze over before Hopper got the gun apart and back together. It felt like an eternity before Phillips called time. “Stop! Damn!” He stammered through his anger a bit at Hopper then ordered the men gather around. He looked like Bucky’s father in an eerie way. Anger with no limit on him. “Six fucking minutes! Six! The maximum was four and you went over by a full half of that! Six minutes! And I didn’t even let you fuckin’ finish!”

“Sir, yes, sir,” said Hopper in return. His voice cracked. Young enough that his fucking voice still cracked.

“That’s unacceptable, Private,” said Phillips. “Un. Ac. Cept. A. Ble! I give you all day to practice, all fuckin’ day and this is what I get?! Private Hopper’s earned you lot a three mile run! I say you all better get goin’ before lights out!”

They all stood, frozen, hoping he was kidding, hoping he’d take it back. “I said move, privates!” He never kidded, he never took anything back, they should’ve known. They got a slow start but they ran in a group around the track. They knew it took eight laps of the track for each mile, twenty four before they could sleep. “And don’t let me catch a single one a youse walking! You run like Adolf Hitler’s got his own personal pistol pressed right against your nuts!”

Phillips stormed off to his own tent. Sarge stayed out with them, barking threats of castration, mutilation, and humiliation. On Bucky’s first major run with the squad, he fell behind. Fell behind so far that Randalls damn near carried him back. After that Sarge directed a lot of his threats towards Bucky. They all had to do with losing his balls one way or another. If it went on much longer he might give them up voluntarily just to shut him up.

 

 

 

Showers were short and cold as sin. There was no hot water out where they were so they made due with trying to coax warm air into the room. Private Randalls and Bucky, their second night, propped open the windows in the main showers. Bucky climbed up Randalls and sat precariously on his shoulders. They broke a broom in half and used the splintered handle to keep the windows from slamming shut.

The room was covered ceiling to floor in worn tile with three showerheads on the three walls each. Thirty guys shared Bucky’s barracks. Thirty guys shared the showers. None of them were patient. The first night or two, they were all gun shy, but nudity didn’t bother them past the first week. They came and went in full view of their audience. Bucky was out and in bed early. His eyes shut before he got to the top of the bunk. It’d be another fifteen before Sarge came and shut their lights off so Bucky skirted around the edge of sleep.

A bang. No a crash. No a fall. Something woke him up. He looked around to see only six other men in beds. The rest were off somewhere. Then he heard the distinctive sound of a fight. All Bucky could think was how awkward a nude fight would be. But it was bound to happen. The tension was palpable in every corner of the camp. They all wanted to go home, sleep a normal amount of time, and pretend they never got their draft card. It was only a matter of time before two fuses lit and blew up on each other.

“Stop! Please!” cried the loser. It occurred to Bucky that all the men missing from their beds might not be just bystanders. A fight was fine but all against one, an outright beating, wasn’t. He sat up and caught the gaze of Randalls in his bottom bunk on the opposite side of the room. They listened to the sound of punches and kicks landing on someone before people filed back in and climbed into their respective bunks.

“What happened?” said Randalls.

“Get fucked,” replied one of the men.

“Who was it?” demanded Randalls. No one replied. “You know if Sarge finds him in there, it’ll only be worse for us, right?” No one replied. “Fuckin’ idiots,” he stood and pulled his boots back on. “Barnes you comin’?”

Randalls muttered all the way to the showers. The other men paid the two of them no mind. Water still sprayed from two of the nozzles. Hopper lay curled up against one of the walls. Randalls and Bucky sidled up to him. He wiped his face. The two hoisted him up and held him under the water.

“I tried my best,” mumbled Hopper after minutes of silence. Neither responded. Bucky scratched the blood off his cheeks while Randalls held him under the water. He coughed and Randalls pulled him out. He apologized more and cried more. And when they tried to walk he collapsed. Randalls stared down at him, his jaw clenching, almost breaking. It was pathetic, more importantly it was hindering them from sleeping.

Bucky didn’t contain his anger like Randalls. When Hopper fell to his knees, Bucky clenched his fist and swung as hard as he could. How could anyone be so pathetic and weak and small? They were all in hell, they were all dying to go anywhere else, to be anyone else. But only Hopper was lying in a ball on the floor, crying his fucking eyes out. Bucky’s fist hit somewhere on his back and kicked somewhere on his chest. Hopper rolled over, didn’t even bother protecting himself or fighting back. That only made Bucky want to go in for more.

“Enough, Barnes!” said Randalls as Bucky wound up for another punch. Hopper held his arms across his stomach, Bucky figured that’s where his boot ended up connecting.

Hopper muttered something. Neither he nor Randalls made it out, but his voice cracked when he said it. The son of a bitch was eighteen. Maybe he was just young enough that the only thing he knew how to do when under this kind of pressure was to curl up and cry.

Bucky got on his knees in front of him. “Kid, kid,” he put hand on his shoulder, “kid, I’m sorry.”

He looked apathetic and nodded.

“It’s been a shitty night,” said Bucky. “None of us were gonna make it under four minutes, none of us. It’s not your fault.”

Bucky stood after that. He was more tired than he was concerned about Hopper’s opinion of him. He held out a hand, Hopper took it, and he pulled Hopper to his feet. Randalls draped his arm around his shoulder and walked him to his bunk with Bucky just behind them.

Sarge came and turned out the lights.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Bucky joined baseball over the summer as he always did. Steve had to quit mid-season because of his asthma. When Junior High began he was back to full health. As full health as Steve could get anyway. 

They had a few classes together but most apart. Steve said it was fine when Bucky offered to get his mom to change all of his classes. Bucky didn’t like it the first two months, but he had Matthew Donovan in most of his classes. Matthew was a blunt person but he was nice, to an extent. He liked fighting more than he liked talking. After their first semester, Steve said Bucky was losing brain cells talking to Matthew so much. 

Though they had no classes together, they still saw each other every day for as long as they could. Outside of class they were never seen apart.

By their second year, the eighth grade, Bucky joined the baseball team during the fall semester, and football during spring. Steve joined baseball but was too small for football. And while Bucky was gaining muscle quicker than he knew what to do with, and height even faster, Steve had only grown to five foot, and gained no muscle. And people noticed. 

Bucky invited girls out to Coney Island on the weekends. He pushed Steve to do the same but more often than not, the girls said no and Marnie had to go in their place as a friend. She was always sure to specify she was just a friend. There was just nothing Bucky could do about what girls thought. No matter how hard he tried. 

When ninth grade came, Bucky and Steve were placed in honors math together. Steve didn’t make it to honors chemistry or honors theology, but he did make it to honors literature and history. Bucky was prepared to drop down to regular chemistry and theology, but his mother would’ve murdered him. She was the only reason he even took the placement tests. The only placement test Bucky didn’t ace was honors art. Steve got in to that. Bucky argued with the teacher for an hour before giving up. 

“You’ve got enough to focus on with your other shit,” said Steve on the walk home. “Plus you’ve never been good with drawing.”

“I think I should get credit for your portfolio. Most of it was constellation drawings which we all know were creatively inspired by me,” said Bucky. 

“You can’t get into an art class for being my muse,” said Steve. 

The two stopped at the grocer’s to get the few things off the list Sarah gave Steve. Bucky handled the top shelves, Steve handled the bottom shelves. On rare occasions, Bucky lifted him up to decide which brand was better. Steve always found that funny unless someone else saw them.

“Are you hiring?” asked Steve on the way out. 

The bag boy shook his head and pointed them in the direction of the pharmacy next door. Steve filled out an application and bought the aspirin Sarah wanted. Steve got it in his head a month prior that he needed a job to help the family. But no one needed a five foot four asthmatic. They started their job search together two weeks before, Bucky applied to anyone that needed heavy lifting to make sure there was a little less competition when it came to the secretarial jobs Steve applied for. 

“So any new friends in there I should be jealous of?” said Bucky. 

Steve unlocked the front door. “Joshua Reynolds is in that class. He’s nice.”

“The hell kinda name is Joshua?” Bucky sucked his teeth. Steve grinned. 

“It’s a biblical name, Mr. Honors Theology.” Steve loaded his arms up with groceries and Bucky lifted him up to the top shelf where he unloaded them. 

“I’ve never met a funny Joshua,” said Bucky into Steve’s hip. Steve tapped his shoulder and he let him drop. 

“I’ve never met a funny Bucky,” replied Steve. 

“I’m hilarious!” screamed Bucky. Steve rolled his eyes and disappeared into Sarah’s room with the box of aspirin. 

The two of them had an even ebb and flow of jealousy. Where Bucky got jealous of Steve’s friends, Steve was jealous of the girls Bucky went out with. There was a silent agreement between the two of them that they’d reduce their time with each if the other got agitated. If Steve made a few biting jokes about the girls, Bucky’d take a weekend off of Coney Island and spend it with Steve and the neighborhood boys. If Bucky dug into Steve’s friends, they’d get Matthew and Marcus and go down to the harbor and try to fish. 

They’d never once caught anything. 

“So what’re we doing this weekend?” said Bucky into Sarah’s bedroom. He hadn’t gone in there since he was a kid. Steve reemerged with a shrug. “Don’t you have a date with…someone?”

“She cancelled. Said her cousin’s confirmation was this Sunday, she and her parents are going up to Albany.”

Steve didn’t care, it read clear on his face. They’d go fishing. 

 

 

 

“That’s not—What the fuck are you doing, Barnes?!” screeched Matthew. Marcus and Steve sat serenely on the dock while Matthew and Bucky bickered over the correct method for baiting hooks. What Bucky and Steve were, Matthew and Marcus became. The two inseparable pairs of the neighborhood naturally flocked together. 

“Steve’s dad taught me this,” said Bucky. “Seein’ as he’s actually caught a fish before, I’d say we listen to him.”

“I’m sure that’s not how he did it when he showed you,” said Matthew. His hand covered Bucky’s. He taught him the ‘right way’ to do it by manipulating each of his fingers. 

The cast their line out and waited. The fishing pole was Matthew’s older brother’s. They were allowed to use it on the condition that each kid paid him a dime every time. Matthew said the reason they never caught any fish was because they’d tainted the sacred art by involving money. 

“Maybe it’s not the money, maybe it’s the Barnes,” said Matthew. Bucky sipped the beer that they all four shared.

“C’mon, Matthew,” muttered Marcus. He was the tallest kid in the class but the meekest. Steve once said ‘God doesn’t give with both hands’ when Bucky pointed it out.

“Well if ol’ Omen Barnes weren’t here we might be expert anglers.”

“Shut the fuck up, Matthew, he’s not a curse,” spat Steve. 

“I’m just kidding,” said Matthew. He shoved Bucky with his shoulder to prove it. Bucky shoved him back and they were even. But he wasn’t kidding. Matthew was the only other person aside from Bucky’s mother who believed the curse. Oddly enough, that made Bucky like him even more. Whenever they argued about his status as totem of misfortune, Matthew backed him up. Steve hated him for that. 

“You know that girl, Lara Campbell?” said Matthew. “The one who transferred from Ithaca last year.”

“Yeah.”

“I heard from a reliable source that she likes you,” said Matthew.

“Huh,” said Bucky. He didn’t like talking about girls in front of Steve. It always got him in a sour mood. Matthew went on about her for a few minutes before Bucky changed the subject and re-cast the line. 

 

 

 

Bucky went out with Lara a few times. As a consequence Steve started talking to him in sentences only a few syllables long. It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve the silent treatment but Steve just wasn’t hearing it. Bucky consulted the only person he could consult, his brother Tommy. Tommy told him what he already knew, that Steve was being a baby. After a week of Steve giving him the cold shoulder, Bucky was prepared to have as big a fight as necessary in order for the shunning to end. Bucky climbed his way into Steve’s room, ready to scream at Steve and vice versa for an hour. But before any kind of fight could start, Steve proudly announced that he and Marnie were going together. 

“We’re not supposed to date each other!” said Bucky to Tommy that night. “If they’re together than we’re not three friends we’re one couple and one friend! Whole thing’s fucked!”

“But you’re with Lara,” said Tommy. His words slurred as he fought sleep. “Doesn’t that make you two couples?”

“Who asked you?!”

He went to bed furious, and woke up furious. But he was determined to react better than Steve. Steve shunned him for a week, Bucky wouldn’t do that, he’d be the bigger person if only to make Steve feel bad. 

 

 

 

It didn’t feel right. They went to Coney Island every weekend as couples. They’d gone the four of them before, but Marnie had always spent much of her time loudly declaring she was just a friend to anyone who would listen. Now she was doting on Steve. Lara couldn’t distract him, nothing could distract him from everything Marnie did to him. 

“Bucky!” snapped Lara. Their ferris wheel carriage rocked when she grabbed him. “Focus!”

He neglected her tongue to try and catch a glimpse of whatever the hell was happening in Steve’s carriage. 

“Sorry,” mumbled Bucky into her neck. 

“Every time we come here all you do is stare at them,” sighed Lara. “I don’t wanna be here for you to make Marnie jealous.”

Bucky pulled away and eyed her up and down. “You think I’m trying to make her jealous?” 

“What am I supposed to think?”

“Not that. I’m just…” he shrugged. “They’re my best friends and if they don’t work out it’s gonna be horrible.”

“Mhm,” replied Lara, though it was clear she believed him, even if he didn’t. He gave her another mark on her collarbone. Low enough that she could hide it she pulled her dress back up at the end of the ride. But evidently, Lara wasn’t satisfied with a few apology-hickeys.

She covered his hand with hers and guided him between her parted legs. Bucky moved with no real clue what he was supposed to do. She seemed okay with that. She whispered something about going home. So when they got off the ride, Bucky said the two of them were leaving. Steve could read him even when no one else could, there was no hiding his intentions around Steve. Steve flushed with embarrassment or anger and said his goodbyes through clenched teeth. Bucky couldn’t tell which it was, embarrassment or anger, but he didn’t have time or energy to figure it out. 

He went home with Lara to her empty house, up to her empty bedroom, and filled the emptiness. 

 

 

 

Her parents came home too early. Bucky wanted to stay, to sleep, to digest, but he couldn’t. Lara kicked him out through the fire escape. She tossed his shoes and jacket down to him after he’d tripped up and slid down the ladder. At least it was warm outside. That’s all he had going for him but it was enough. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and started home. He felt like everyone in town knew, like God Himself told everybody while he was in there. Tomorrow morning they’d all wake up and shun him. He wanted to confess, but he wouldn’t. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t. He just walked. 

But his apartment was the last place he wanted to go, he wanted to go home home. So he did. He walked through the alley behind Steve’s house and climbed his fire escape. Ever since the seventh grade he’d been tall enough to jump and catch the ladder. He no longer needed Steve to let it down for him. He tapped on the window and woke Steve. He’d long since stopped being startled by Bucky showing up at his window.

“What do you want?” spat Steve. He only cracked the window. 

“Why’re you mad?” whispered Bucky in response. 

“Why’m I mad?” replied Steve at full volume. “I told you two weeks ago how I wasn’t gettin’ anywhere with Marnie and at first opportunity you go off to do God know’s what with Lara, right in front ‘a me!”

Bucky just stared at him. He didn’t have the energy to comfort Steve or apologize. His eyes were watery, his vision blurry, and every muscle was on the brink of giving up on him. 

“You okay?” said Steve, noticing it all. Maybe he didn’t hide it as well as he thought or maybe Steve knew him better than he thought. “You look like you’re gonna cry.”

“I think I am,” said Bucky. Steve climbed out of bed and onto the fire escape where they didn’t have to be so quiet. 

“What happened?” Steve leaned against the railing and stared at Bucky with concern. Bucky stared straight up, trying to force the few tears back into his eyes. It didn’t work, he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. 

“I don’t know…” mumbled Bucky.

“Did you do it?” 

“I guess,” said Bucky. 

“You guess?” Steve laughed in a futile attempt to diffuse the tension. “You either did or you didn’t.”

“We did.” Bucky’s knees buckled. He sat down before he fell and Steve followed him. Bucky threaded his arms through the railing on the escape and rested his head against the cool wrought iron. 

“Why aren’t you happy?” said Steve. Bucky shrugged, a few more tears fell. “C’mon, Buck. Talk to me.”

“I…I don’t know,” Bucky wiped his cheeks again. “I don’t know. I was…so nervous but…she didn’t notice and it happened really fast and…I don’t even think she liked it…and then I didn’t get to stay, her parents came home. I don’t know.”

The tears came faster than Bucky could wipe them away, not that he didn’t keep trying though. Finally the floodgates opened. The wrought iron cut into his hands and he let sobs wrack his body with no resistance. It needed to come out one way or another. 

He heard Steve shush him. Then he draped an arm across Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky let go of the wrought iron and fell into Steve’s chest. That’s all he needed was someone to hold him. Just for a little while. It was supposed to be Lara but it felt better with Steve. Steve said nothing, just ran a hand through Bucky’s hair every once in a while. It reminded Bucky of what his dark hair represented what it meant. Of course this milestone, which was supposed to feel like heaven, had gone all wrong. He was cursed and he smiled to himself as he wondered why he ever expected it to go differently than it head.

“You can go back to sleep,” said Bucky. He pulled away to find he’d completely soaked through Steve’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Sleep here,” said Steve. “It’s late for you to be walkin’ back. Especially like this.” Steve put a rogue lock of Bucky’s hair back in place. He ran the back of his hand over Bucky’s wet cheeks.

“You sure?” said Bucky as he climbed in the window. Steve didn’t respond but followed him in. Bucky tugged his clothes off and set his boots down as quietly as he could, hoping to God he didn’t wake Joseph or Sarah. When he slept over, Bucky slept against the wall to make as much room for Steve as possible. Ever since he was a kid he had a fear of suffocating him in the night. 

“Do you need to be up for work tomorrow?” whispered Steve. Bucky shook his head and got up against the wall. Steve climbed in next to him and gave him most of the pillow. 

 

 

 

“Ave Maria, gratia plena,” muttered Bucky. “Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.” Nine to go. 

He deserved more, he almost asked for more. His virginity was gone, somewhere in the dark ether of Lara’s room, and his only punishment was thirty Aves. Steve told him before he went that it wasn’t a priest’s business what he’d done, that God wouldn’t be angry. Bucky wasn’t going to roll the dice on his eternal soul on a hunch. 

But more than that, he wanted to be punished, he wanted a repercussion. The action felt incomplete without punishment to follow it up. Thirty wasn’t enough. He skipped the day with Steve and the boys to confess, he needed more. So he did more. He got to fifty but it’d never be enough, he was dirtied. Unclean and nothing would wash that out. Nothing could. Steve told him it didn’t need washing, but how could he know.

Lara, in her infinite wisdom, thought like Steve. When he saw her again, she thought his worrying was funny. Lara was one half Protestant. Anglican to be exact. It was easier for her to let things wash over her. In contrast, Bucky could see Marnie’s opinion of him changed when word got around to her through Lara. Lara said it was cruel to leave her in the dark if three of their four knew. The look Marnie gave him next she saw him was not of disgust like he expected but pity. Like he’d strayed so far from the light and she’d given up on bringing him back.

He’d die before it happened again. 

 

 

 

Bucky hit a bullseye and won Lara a stuffed monkey. Marnie warned Steve she didn’t want one and if he spent too much money on attempts she’d ream ‘im. Marnie preferred to be gifted in food. Her parents had more money than most people in the neighborhood and yet still insisted she get as much food outside of the house as she could. 

“One monkey, and one pretzel then,” said Bucky. 

They walked through Luna park, their hands entwined with their other halves the whole way until they settled on the beach. Lara took her shoes off and went to chase the water as it came in. 

“I love it here,” said Marnie. 

“It’s too cold in winter,” added Bucky. 

“Not here just…in this place at the time, with you guys,” added Marnie. 

“You sap,” said Bucky, he shoved her over, she laughed and Steve caught her. And kissed her. Bucky hated that, he couldn’t get past it. Lara usually saw it as competition but seeing Steve with her just made his stomach churn, he was never in a mood to compete.

“Marnie!” called Lara from the water. “Come on!”

Without a word, Marnie tucked her socks into her shoes and joined Lara. Steve grunted a ‘might as well’, and the two of them got up to chase the water too. It was freezing, it was always freezing, even in the summers. The tide was going out, they chased it further and further until two big waves completely drenched Lara. After everyone was through laughing at her, Bucky offered his shirt. Lara told him if anyone saw her boyfriend walking home in the dark in just an undershirt she’d be a laughing stock. 

“You think they’ll let you on the train like that?” said Marnie through her giggles. 

Lara shrugged. “What can they do?”

Bucky held her close to keep her warm on the walk to the train station. She thanked him a few times for it. The snickers never fully left the four of them. With each slosh of Lara’s shoes they cracked. Lara confidently sat down in the train and left a puddle when their stop arrived. 

She and Marnie were on the richer half of their neighborhood, not rich but richer. Steve and Bucky were in the opposite direction. They walked with them back to Lara’s to make sure they made it home okay, then prepared for their trek back to their side of the neighborhood. 

They stopped for a break at the school. Steve wanted a rest, his allergies were worse in the summer and, depending on the day, walking could be as hard as sprinting. So they hung around the dugout, and when Steve didn’t catch his breath, they broke into the gym. Steve sat on the bleachers and wheezed while Bucky tried, but mostly failed, to dunk. Steve cheered him on between deep, unsatisfying breaths. It wasn’t much longer before Bucky sounded as bad as Steve.

“Why do you look so pensive?” panted Bucky. He took a seat by Steve on the sticky wooden bleachers. 

“Hm?” Steve was still lost in thought. Bucky snapped in front of his glazed-over eyes to get his attention. He laughed when he realized he’d been staring into space, but the smile faded. “Nothin’ just thinkin’…”

“Well? What the fuck you thinkin’ about?” said Bucky. “Must’ve been pretty damn important, I almost made it in that last time and you weren’t even watching.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s nothing, just my mind wandering.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.” Steve blushed and looked at the freshly waxed and freshly scuffed floors of the basketball court. 

“Steve, c’mon.” Bucky nudged him. He shook his head again. Then nodded, then shook. “Steve.”

“I…” began Steve before he cut himself off. 

“Spit it out or we’ll be here all night.” His heart pounded, Bucky didn’t know why, but it did. On the edge of bursting out of his damn chest. Maybe it was because it’d been so long since he learned something new about Steve. 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something. C’mon, if you can’t tell me who can ya tell? Whatever’s buggin’ you is gonna bug you less once you tell someone,” said Bucky. That reassured Steve enough. He told Bucky to turn around though, couldn’t say it to his face whatever it was. Steve took several deep, wheezy breaths while Bucky stared at the strange patterns the moonlight made on the floor as it passed through the stained glass. The pinks, purples, blues were vibrant, but the greens, yellows, reds, got lost somewhere between the moon and the windows.

“Marnie wanted to try something since…you and Lara tried it.” Bucky’s stomach dropped. “But…it…wouldn’t…it wouldn’t work…I just…I’ve been wondering why that is.”

He bit his cheek, it bled. “Oh?” was all he could say. He could’ve torn up those bleachers, ripped the wood planks from the floor, the bricks from the walls, the doors off their hinges, the moonlight out of the stained glass. But he didn’t know why.

“Why’re you so quiet?” said Steve with a tense laugh. 

“Nothing.” The word struggled out of Bucky’s clenched jaw. “What happened?”

“Well she came over and mentioned it. She said it was a sin to touch each other, said I should just…do it in front of her. But it just wouldn’t.”

“Maybe you were too nervous?”

“I’m not nervous around her.” Steve took as deep of a breath as he could. “I don’t know what happened but every time I’ve seen her since I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. What if it never works?”

“Try it now.” Bucky’s mouth spoke before his mind. He was glad then that his back was still turned to him, that he didn’t have to see Steve’s expression. 

Silence followed. Bucky could hear his own heart. Nothing came to mind, no words that would smooth out what he said. He held his breath intermittently, not wanting to make any sound. 

Steve’s feet shuffled on the wood of the bleachers. His damp clothes rustled as he shimmied them down just enough. He coughed and he sighed. It was obvious what he was doing even with Bucky’s back to him. Bucky’s grip on the lip of the bleachers got tight enough to splinter the wood. He glanced over his shoulder and turned back quickly. He didn’t see anything but the rhythmic movement. His own racing heart drowned out anything he might’ve heard. 

“It’s…” Steve coughed, “it’s not working. It’s the one thing I’m supposed to be able to do—” he hit the bleachers with an open palm and all the force his body had left. “Every fuckin’ disease I have takes somethin’ else from me! Didn’t think it could take this…” 

“I’m sure you can,” said Bucky, his own voice sounded foreign, like he hadn’t spoken in days. Steve sucked his teeth in response. “You’re overthinking it.”

Bucky reached behind him, his back still turned. His hand slid across the wood of the bleacher. He found Steve’s hip and moved closer. His fingers traced down his waistband. Bucky stared at the stain glass reflection of Mary on the wood floor. The heat coming off Steve got hotter as he got closer. Steve grabbed his wrist when Bucky’s blind hand found his navel. His grip was tight and painful. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was angry and accusatory.

“I’m good at this,” said Bucky. “I can fix it.”

Steve’s grip didn’t loosen around his wrist. Bucky wouldn’t turn around to face him, he kept his arm behind him and his eyes focused on the moonlit floors until Steve made his decision. And let go. And let Bucky’s hand wander down him. They both made a noise when he found what he was looking for and stroked. And stroked him again. 

And again, and again, and again, and Steve’s shoes squeaked against the wood, and again, and again, and again, and he croaked out a strange sound, and again, and it grew, and again, and it worked. And again. And again, and again, and Steve panted, and again. Quicker now, and again. And again. And Steve grabbed his sleeve, held his arm. And again, and again. Twist. Again. Again. Again. And slower. And again. Slower still. Again. Again. Stop. 

Steve’s quiet, shuddering breaths filled the empty air of the gym. He let go of his haphazard grip on Bucky’s sleeve and coughed. Bucky’s shoulder, his elbow, hurt from being contorted for so long. They ached when he pulled his arm away. 

Steve stood, Bucky kept his back to him. Steve shakily made his way down the bleachers. Bucky only saw him pass on his way to the doors. He walked through the light of Mary’s stained glass window and signed the cross over his chest. He didn’t look back. 

Bucky groaned and laid down on the bleachers. He licked what he could off of his fingers. Though he couldn’t say he’d ever thought about it much, it tasted different from how he imagined. And he unbuttoned his pants, and he turned his head away from Mother Mary, and he made it quick. And he prayed for forgiveness. He stumbled to the locker room and washed his hands. He refused to look at his reflection. He wouldn’t know it if he saw it. 

 

 

 

Bucky wandered out of the gym and into the halls. His eyes adjusted to the darkness until he found the light in the chapel. He followed it right to the confessional. A young woman left the booth before him. 

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” He wondered who was on the other side of the partition. Wondered if maybe it was Father Trent who taught his Theology class. He deepened his voice, and tried to sound more raspy when he spoke. Anything to disguise himself. 

“It’s my fault,” said Bucky midway through his explanation. “It’s my fault! I had…I went to bed with a girl…and he wanted to too. If I didn’t…none of this would’ve happened.” He cried, he sobbed, he dry heaved. The priest stayed silent on the other side of the partition. “I’m going to Hell aren’t I?”

“I’d never claim to know what decision He’s made,” said the Father. That wasn’t a ‘no’. He was given a full Rosary to do. Bucky insisted he must need more, God must want more from him. The priest told him it was late, that he could seek more absolution in the morning. 

He did his Rosary and stumbled out of the church, bleary-eyed and confused. He walked to the only place he could’ve. The fire escape’s ladder was down already, waiting for him to jump up to Steve’s room. But it didn’t feel right, not then, to climb into his bed like usual. He threw pebbles at Steve’s window. When Steve stuck his head out he told him to go to the front door. 

The door creaked open, Steve only opened it as much as he needed to. Just enough to see Bucky. 

“Bucky,” said Steve’s croaky voice, “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I just went to confession,” said Bucky. 

“Oh,” Steve’s arms crossed over his chest. Even in the low light Steve’s cheeks were obviously red. Bucky knew he wasn’t much better. “What’d he say?”

“It’s…It’s all fine. I did a full Rosary and he said it’s fine. We’ll just never do it ever again.”

“It’s fine?” Steve sounded surprised. With good reason. Going into the confessional, Bucky had also been expecting the priest to excommunicate him then and there. 

“It’s fine…Did you tell anyone?”

“Sort of.” Bucky held his breath. “My mom thinks it has something to do with Marnie, I was acting weird so…had to tell her something.”

Bucky sighed deep in relief. “Good…and we shouldn’t feel guilty about keeping it a secret cause it’ll never happen again, ever.”

“Right. So it’s not really keeping a secret it’s just…not telling everyone everything,” began Steve.

“Which is impossible to do anyway,” interrupted Bucky. “You can’t tell everyone everything so it’s actually…just…normal. And I already did my prayers so God’s not mad either.” It sounded rational, right at the time.

“Right.”

“Right.”

Bucky looked at him. He looked new, like he hadn’t seen him in awhile. Steve looked at him, maybe not in the same way, but he looked. And he hid behind the door more when their eyes met. 

“We don’t need to talk about it,” said Steve. “Ever.”

And he shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this took so long to update, I'll put up the next chapter probably by tomorrow though. If anyone's reading this please comment, I need them haha!

 

And again. And Again. And Again. And — 

“AGAIN!” screamed Sarge. 

Again. And Again. Randalls loaded it, Barnes cocked it, Barnes fired. Again. Again. Again. 

“And switch!” called Sarge. Bucky got off his stomach and crouched by Randalls who took his place. He loaded the gun, Randalls cocked it, Randalls fired. Their unit may not have been the best at dismantling and assembling their guns, but they were the best at firing them. 

Philips, unfortunately, was not there to see this success. He was doing special recruitments around every bootcamp on the east coast and in the midwest. Evidently he found no talent in Bucky’s camp. He left without a trace, his aides took over his work but Sarge took over his screaming. Sarge couldn’t do it like Philips could. But they worked harder, almost trying to prove to Philips he made a mistake in leaving. 

Bucky, for one, was the best marksmen out of the unit. He let himself succeed when it finally hit him that doing poorly in bootcamp would not get him out of the war. Nothing would get him out now. So he might as well be ready for when it came. 

“Good eye, Barnes,” said Sarge after their fifth rotation. Bucky hadn’t missed the target since the second day of practice, hadn’t missed dead center all day. “Damn good eye.”

The men ribbed him for that. Shoved him on the way to the mess hall, knocked his dinner tray out of his hand, sabotaged his footlocker right before inspection. Bucky took all of that, it was fine. The others didn’t want him showing them up and he understood that, so he let it go. He reorganized his footlocker in silence. They weren’t allowed much from home but the few things they were may as well have been gold. His books were fine. The rosary Rebecca gave him all those years ago was intact. Under the mess of clothes and contraband food they’d thrown in Bucky’s locker was a torn note. Not purposely torn it looked, but torn. His note from home, from Steve. 

He read that thing every night. The tear led down to the first three lines. He put it down and slammed his footlocker shut. And stood. 

“Who did it?” said Bucky, addressing the whole room. Half in their beds, winding down, half getting ready for the showers. 

“Did what?” said Wyatt.

“Who fucked with my locker?” replied Bucky. 

“Maybe it was your best friend Sarge?” teased Lewandowski. 

“Which one of you did it?” repeated Bucky. 

Dobbs laughed from his bunk. Bucky turned to meet his gaze. He stared at Bucky with no remorse or fear. “It was a group decision.”

“Who held the vote?” 

Dobbs raised his hand. Bucky ran at him. His bare feet gave him a good footing on the ground. Dobbs never got off his bed. Bucky held nothing back. All those shitheads got to take their own anger out on Hopper, well Bucky was doing the same to Dobbs. The fear, anger, anguish, pain, confusion, anxiety, Dobbs absorbed it all. The punches weren’t enough, he clawed at Dobbs, got under his skin, screamed like a maniac, bit him, did everything he could before someone stopped him. 

Randalls and Stevenson pulled him off in the end. Bucky didn’t fight them. Dobbs, blood dripping down his face, bruises already forming on his cheeks, looked annoyed. Inconvenienced at best. No one else in the room had even looked over. It just came and went. 

Under the weak spray of water, Bucky scraped Dobb’s skin and blood from under his nails. No one said anything to him for it, no one mentioned the screaming, the clawing, the maliciousness. No one, not even Randalls. Bucky thought about it for hours after he crawled into his bunk. He had a good friend, Matthew Donovan, who was known for his violence especially when they were younger. 

He had an extraordinary capacity for brutality that he showcased every once in a while. The memory that stuck out most to Bucky was a time, years and years prior, when the pair went fishing with two others. Bucky baited the hook wrong, Matthew stabbed his hand with it. He tried to press it all the way through his palm and only stopped when Steve jumped on his back. 

Maybe he picked up few things from him. Maybe Bucky was capable of everything Matthew was, he just needed the disinterested, military environment to channel it. He just needed men to look the other way while he attacked someone and who knew where he would stop? It terrified him and put him to sleep. 

 

 

 

Two weeks later Colonel Philips was spotted back on base. A woman accompanied him this time. Gorgeous. Even Bucky noticed her. She subbed in for Sarge twice already. Lewandowski made a pass at her the first day, she shot at him. Missed on purpose. Lewandowski hadn’t spoken to her since. After the first hour, her beauty wore off. The men stopped viewing her as a bombshell running around base and instead as the devil who was never satisfied with their workouts. 

“You always bring the best out of the men,” said Colonel Philips to her one morning. Bucky would’ve rolled his eyes if his body had the energy to. She was so good at her job because none of the men would challenge her. Bucky was convinced for the first night only that they were only afraid to challenge her because they wanted to fuck her. But by the second day he knew it was because they feared her. Just the right amount to get the best out of them. 

They separated the unit for the day. Barnes, Randalls, Hopper, Stevenson, Dobbs, and Richardson were driven to the shooting range. Randalls said something about assigning sniperhood. Bucky could handle being a sniper. He’d hide, he’d be quiet, he’d stay alive, and all of his kills would be from a distance. Not to mention he was a natural.

“Again, Barnes,” said Agent Carter. Bucky’d heard a British accent twice before in his life. Neither sounded like that. 

He cocked the gun and fired. Bullseye. He turned, ready to accept more instruction, but Agent Carter was whispering to Colonel Philips already. She asked the same of the other men, whispering to Philips between each shot. Carter commanded them to dismantle and assemble their rifles once again. Stevenson beat Bucky by four seconds. Carter then named unmarked targets for them to hit. They had to rely on the scope rather than muscle memory. Bucky hit all but three targets.

At the end of everyone’s time in the spotlight, Carter had them dissemble their guns and stand. She had them run back to base. Bucky threw up when they got there, Randalls helped him limp into showers. 

She repeated this schedule every day the following four days. Each day, Carter had them doing more. It began with them lying on their bellies, shooting at her whim. Then they were climbing, crawling, listening hard, staring at long stretches of terrain for the smallest inconsistency. Bucky wasn’t as good as some of the others, but he improved quicker. Carter noticed that, or he hoped she did. 

On their seventh day of nonstop sniping, Carter stopped them mid practice and told them to dissemble their guns. They did. She told them to stand, and they did. 

“Congratulations, boys.” Her voice was cold, even then. “You six have shown exceptional marksmanship compared to the other men in your unit. And you six will continue training to become snipers before you leave here and deploy.”

Randalls nudged Bucky, he was right, it was all a test. Bucky could’ve guessed that himself by the second day. 

“I’m proud of you,” said Carter before getting in her jeep and driving away. The six of them ran home. 

 

 

 

The men stayed dead asleep as Bucky crept out. He needed air, he needed to be alone for a few moments, for a few brief moments. He needed solitude, solitude he’d never find in his bunk. 

So he snuck out and he rounded the corner out of the barracks, and he looked at the night sky. He hadn’t seen the night sky in so long. Anytime he’d been under it, he didn’t have the energy to lift his head and see. He did then. 

“God…” whispered Bucky to the sky. 

“God’s asleep, Private,” replied Agent Carter. Her pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight, how had he not seen her skulking up to his corner of the barracks. 

“Agent Carter,” he stood at attention in his boxers. “I was just getting some air—“

She waved his words away with her hand. She climbed the steps to the barracks’s walkway and leant on the railing by him. 

“At ease, soldier,” said Carter. Bucky didn’t return to leaning on the railing with her. It didn’t feel right. “I like that the camps are so far into the countryside. You can see the stars, remind you why you’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Bucky. 

“What’re you doing out of bed?” asked Carter. 

“I…I needed some air.”

She nodded. “Drafted or enlisted?”

“Drafted.”

“So, given the chance, you wouldn’t be here. Is that right?” Carter looked at him, Bucky froze and said nothing. “It’s alright, private. Many men are in your same position.”

“I believe the war…I believe that what’s happening should be stopped—“

“But you don’t want to be the one to do it,” said Carter. “One life takes no precedence over another. No one is more important that anyone in the grand scheme.”

“Yes ma’am,” he’d heard this speech before.

“Get to bed, private. You’ve got another long and arduous day ahead of you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said I'd post this chapter like a week ago? Sorry about that. Anyway here it is, leave a comment if you can, next chapter'll be up soon!

 

Lara wanted sex, sex that Bucky would no longer supply. A few more months of that and Bucky had enough, the guilt filled his body five times over every night and he couldn’t take it. After yet another weekend at Luna park where Bucky wouldn’t let her ride his hand, she had a long conversation with him and they split. It was a week before summer vacation, the summer vacation before their second to last year of school. 

He cared for her, he may have loved her, and he was a wreck when she broke it off. Steve was there to pick up the pieces. They went fishing alone, Matthew let them borrow the fishing pole. Matthew wasn’t one to deal with anyone’s emotions, he didn’t want to see Bucky cry. 

They didn’t catch anything but Bucky’s eyes dried up. Two weeks before Steve’s birthday, Marnie broke it off. Bucky was there for him. He wouldn’t say why they broke it off, which frustrated Bucky. He admitted to Steve he was going through emotional hell every time he slept with Lara, it was an embarrassing thing to admit, and Steve wouldn’t reciprocate. But he wouldn’t drag it out of him. 

“Are ye’s still mopin’?” said Joseph one morning. Bucky slept over the night before, he and Steve were staring blankly at their breakfasts. Bucky nodded. “It’ll do ye no good to lie around. Go out, get some exercise!”

Sarah shuffled into the kitchen. “Leave the boys alone, if they’re to be sad, so be it.”

Joseph rolled his eyes and kissed Sarah goodbye before heading to work. Bucky had never seen his parents kiss. Not on the mouth. His father kissed her cheek sometimes but he could count how many times he’d seen that on his fingers. 

“I think you boys should go outside too though,” said Sarah. “It’s not good to avoid the sun this long.”

In the end, Sarah got them dressed and sent them away. The two of them sulked around the city all day. They stopped at a cheap diner for lunch and bought a few beers just before dinner. They walked and drank and eventually realized how far from home they were and stopped and waited for their train back. Steve had a lower tolerance than Bucky but Bucky drank more than him. 

“My mom’ll killus,” slurred Steve. The slurring came from the exhaustion not the beer. 

“We’ll be sober by the time we get home.”

They stumbled onto an empty train car. Steve leant against him and nearly fell asleep. 

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“Hm?” Steve didn’t open his eyes. 

“Why did Marnie break it off?”

“You really won’t le…let it go huh?”

“I told you why Lara and I—“

“Yeah! You,” he gestured upwards but at nothing in particular while he searched for words, “you…you were having too much great sex with her! You po—or thing!”

“That’s not true,” mutter Bucky.

“It’s close enough! I never got in with Marnie, I’d kill to be where you were.”

“No you wouldn’t! I was miserable.” Bucky’s anger sobered him up. 

“How could you be? How could you be plowin’ Lara every other night and not die happy?”

Bucky had no answer, for himself or for Steve. “Fine, don’t tell me about Marnie.”

They passed two more stops. Steve stopped leaning on Bucky. Two women got on and off and the car was empty again. 

“She broke it off because I told her.”

“Told her what?”

“That you…tried to fix the problem I had,” said Steve.

“You told her?!” screamed Bucky. Both of them were sober now. “Why—Why would you tell her?!”

“I had to! You got to tell the priest, I had to tell someone, it was eating me up!”

“You could’ve told the priest too!”

“She hasn’t told anyone!”

“She’ll always be able to though, Steve! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Steve said nothing. Both of them took a few beats to calm down when the train stopped and a man got on. They remained dead silent for the next three stops until the man got off. 

“Okay,” began Bucky. “Okay so…”

“She won’t tell, we both know she won’t,” said Steve. “But she had to break it off. I told her a month ago and I guess she just couldn’t get it out of her head.”

Bucky put his head back against the window. “What did she say when you told her?”

“Said…I must not like her that much if you could get it to work when she couldn’t.” Steve sank. “It’s weird isn’t it….that it worked for you and not her.”

“You said she wasn’t even touchin’ it. Plus…I mean who knows what’s causin’ it to do that…or not do that.” Bucky crossed his ankles. “You said we should never talk about it.”

“Yeah…We shouldn’t.”

“Yeah…” Bucky bit his thumbnail. “It was good though. Right? Felt…okay?”

Steve coughed. “I…I mean, it was—It was a weird night.”

“You sounded…good.”

Steve turned to look at him. Bucky looked back. They sized each other up and neither could decipher the other’s state of mind. A rare case. Steve punched his arm as hard as he could. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me shit like that.”

“Fine,” mumbled Bucky. 

Steve sat back with a deep breath. “I…Look…Thanks for doing it. It was weird but it worked so…thanks.”

“Haven’t really thought about it since…” said Bucky. And the fell silent. 

Bucky kept his eyes straight ahead, staring at the Philip Morris ad in front of him. A slender, pale woman smoked the advertised cigarettes. Her lipstick smudged where it met the cigarette. He could feel Steve next to him, they were inches from each other but Bucky could still feel him, like he emanated electricity. And he knew Steve could feel him too. And he knew Steve was staring at the ad with him. 

And he crossed his legs, and dragged his hand heavy down his thigh. The lights flickered, they always did but it was more noticeable at night where even the brief glimpses to the outside were no reprieve from the stretches of darkness. As a kid, Steve was afraid of the dark. He still was. He used to grab Bucky’s big leather jacket. Light enough so he thought Bucky couldn’t feel it, but he could. 

A darkness washed over them with the lights flickering. Bucky’d grown into his leather jacket now, he could feel Steve’s grip. Steve’s wasn’t trying to disguise it anymore. He held tight to his arm. The train sped up in between stops. Got louder as it went. Steve’s knee hit his, his hip nudged Bucky’s. He could feel him squirming just the same as Bucky was. The weight of Steve on him, the vibration of the train, maybe the beers too, and definitely the darkness, it all crashed together in Bucky’s lap. The deafening cry of the train’s brakes covered Bucky’s moan. 

They pulled into the station at an agonizingly slow pace. Steve was flushed and out of breath too. Bucky only caught quick, unfocused glances from him though. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, look him in eye after that. They stopped at the station bathroom and on the walk home they took indirect routes home to avoid walking together. 

 

 

 

Bucky scrubbed and scrubbed but the stain wouldn’t budge. Or maybe it had and he couldn’t tell through the suds and the water. He took a break and sat on the edge of the tub, his sopping wet pants in hand. He gave up, wrung them out, and shuffled back to his and Tommy’s bedroom. Tommy was asleep when he got home but very much awake now. 

“Piss yourself?” laughed Tommy. 

“Eh…” said Bucky. He should’ve just agreed but his groggy mind could barely understand what Tommy said.

“What happened if not piss?” Tommy loved to gossip. He used to get made fun of for it, but he’d die before he stopped being nosy. 

“I…Uh,” the truth was coming out and Bucky was powerless to stop it. “I uh…”

“No!” said Tommy. A wide grin formed on his face. “How’d that—When?!”

“Sh!”

“Tell your beautiful big brother how this tragic event came to pass.” He patted Bucky’s empty half of the bed. 

“It’s been awhile since Lara.” Bucky sat. “Steve and I picked up some girls and on the train home…she just kinda brushed up by me but…”

“HA!” 

“Shut up!”

“You really are cursed!”

Bucky hit Tommy with his pillow for laughing. Tommy barely reacted. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he silently laughed himself into a fit. Bucky called him a shit brother and turned out the light. Several minutes later, when Tommy finally calmed down, he turned the light back on. 

“James, I sincerely apologize for my behavior.”

“Fuck off.”

“You embarrass too easily. Just own it. If you live life this embarrassed and ashamed of everything you do you won’t have time to enjoy anything. You comin’ in your pants in front of two girls and Steve of all people, is objectively funny! You gotta learn to laugh!” 

“Yeah yeah,” muttered Bucky. Tommy accepted that as a reconciliation and turned the light out. Bucky couldn’t laugh it off. The lie he told Tommy might’ve been easier to brush off but the truth was stranger. Unspeakable. “Tommy…you ever been in love?”

Tommy scoffed. “Hell no.”

“What about Vince, you think he’s ever been in love?”

“No, and I don’t think Marianna or Rebecca’ve ever been in love either. ’n fact, I don’t even think Mom and Dad’ve ever been in love.”

“You don’t think they’re in love?”

“I think they got as close as they could. You ever seen ‘em kiss? Or hold hands? Or even look each other in the eye when they talk? I haven’t.” Tommy fell silent for a few heavy moments. Tommy never liked to be heavy, to be too sad or introspective. So when he was, the whole room felt it. “Why’re you askin’ this shit anyway? You in love?”

“I don’t know…how can you tell?”

“I think it’s one ‘a those things where you know it when you’re in it. Who’s the girl?”

“Marnie.” The first name that came to mind. 

“Well, she’s off limits. You can’t go with your friend’s old flame, it’s not right.”

“I know it’s not right…” mumbled Bucky. “I kissed her when we were kids. And we’ve…done something since. I don’t know. I can’t tell if she’s just my friend. She’s a friend I want all to myself. I wanna be just her friend for ever. Ya know? I just wanna make her life easier…and hold her. That’s what I really want, I wanna hold her.”

Bucky wiped the tears from his cheeks. They wouldn’t stop coming, his pillow was soaked. Tommy could hear the sobs escape his body but he said nothing. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, it’s so wrong but it’s all I think about.”

“Hey hey,” Tommy sat up and shook Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t get all depressed like this. Just talk to Steve.”

“What—Why?” Bucky panicked, thinking he’d let the wrong name slip.

“Because he was with Marnie last. If you just…told him all this, told him how head over heels you are, I’m sure he’d give you his blessing, he’s a good guy.”

“So you think I’m in love?”

“The hell do I know? Maybe all this’ll go away if you fuck her. Either way you gotta talk to Steve.”

 

 

 

Bucky came late the next morning to see Steve. If he didn’t see him soon he’d avoid it for so long they’d stop being friends. Steve answered. They looked at each other blank for an eternity, both waiting for the other to lead. 

“I—” began Bucky. Steve cut him off. He put a cautious hand on Bucky’s arm, took a step closer and hugged him. It was a weak hug, he barely touched him. He pulled away quick and walked back inside. 

Was that remorse, a goodbye, an acceptance? Bucky had no idea. The more he needed to read Steve’s emotions the more incomprehensible they became. But the door stayed open, so he walked inside. The Steve he found inside picked up right where they left off.

Steve didn’t have the day off, he had to be at the pharmacy by noon. Sarah left with him for the hospital. 

“Just us boys today, eh, Bucky?” Joseph laughed. “Aye, ’m only kidding. Go head off with yer pals.”

“No no, let’s us do something.” Bucky didn’t get much from his father. He wasn’t especially distant, or especially warm. Much of Bucky’s fathering came from Joseph. Neither would say that but they knew it. 

“Let’s us buy lunch,” said Joseph like it was a trip around the world. Bucky grinned like it was.

They found a cheap diner by the pier. They sat outside and Bucky fed some of his french fries to the birds around his feet. Joseph called it a waste of food and dropped a few for the birds at the other table. 

“So, kid. How’s workin’ the docks?” 

Bucky shrugged. “I’m stronger now, I guess.”

“Be proud to have work, no matter the kind. A little labor always does a youngster good.” Bucky nodded. He chewed a bite too big for even his mouth. Joseph laughed when he finally got it down. “Never been one to live cautious.”

“Mr. Rogers,” he wiped the grease from his mouth, “how do you know what you feel? For someone.”

“How do you mean?” said Joseph.

“I…” Bucky stared at the glimpse of the bay he could see between buildings. He took another bite. “Forget it. It’s just some queer shit anyway.”

“Hey hey,” chided Joseph. “Explain. Everyone feels things, no shame in not understanding it all the time.”

Bucky awkwardly laughed and stared intensely at the metal mesh of the table. “Promise me you won’t tell, not even Mrs. Rogers.”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t let on to anyone that you have feelings.”

“Good. So…so…so…” the words weren’t coming out. He sat back in his chair and reset. “So!”

“So,” repeated Joseph.

“SO!” laughed Bucky. It was a nervous laugh but the nerves began to ebb out of him. “So…if. How do you know if you’re in love?”

“Oh?” Joseph made a face. “You think you’re in love then?”

“I don’t know!” He laughed again, still nervous and unnatural. “I can’t tell…I mean…if you feel like you’re in love with someone…that you can’t be in love with then…what is that feeling?”

“Kids! Everything is life or death to ye’s!” Joseph stole a fry from Bucky. “There’s no obstacle too great to be conquered by love. I speak from experience. I thought marryin’ Sarah was impossible. Her father hated me, I had no job, I had no money, and she was usually too sick to go out with me. But I loved, and love, her. So here we are.”

“Well…how did you know you loved her?”

“It’s…I suppose it’s like a pain.” Joseph smiled and took another bite of his sandwich. “You ache for them. You’re at your happiest when you’re with them, you want be with them always, and you’re relaxed around them, you’re yourself. Of course sometimes they make you so nervous and giddy you forget your own name and personality, barely get a word out.”

“But that’s not it.” Bucky clenched his jaw in frustration. “I’m like that with Steve but he’s just my friend. What makes it love?”

“Eh…” Joseph coughed uncomfortably. He shifted in his chair too much. “I suppose as much of friends as me and Sarah are you and Steve are but the critical difference would be romance. You and Steve don’t…do that.” He looked at Bucky for confirmation. “Wanting to be with them…physically.”

“Sex?”

“Not just sex—there’s just a lot of romantic…I don’t know how to describe it. There’s a level of emotional intimacy you share with whoever you’re in love with. You don’t do that with friends I don’t think. At least I never did.”

“So…the difference between whoever I marry and Steve is that…I’ll sleep with whoever I marry?” 

Joseph thought for a moment. “Y…Yes? I suppose you could put it like that. Ye’ve really heaved me out my ken here.”

“Sorry…It’s been a long week.”

“Breakups are difficult, but I promise you’ll find someone you love just as much or more than Lara.” Bucky almost forgot about her. “I know you think you’ve got some horrid curse on ye—you don’t by the ways—but either way love is always like this. It’s confusing and full of highs and lows but you’ll figure it out eventually. Don’t worry.”

Joseph clapped his arm and forced a smile from Bucky. “There’s my boy! Now I say you pick up the tab since I’ve paid you your weight in wisdom.”

 

 

 

“We could go to an actual party you know?”

“It’s your birthday, you choose.”

“All the people watching the fireworks are families and little kids.”

“So let’s go to a party.”

“So you don’t wanna watch the fireworks?”

Bucky groaned loud enough to wake Sarah who was dead asleep downstairs. Steve covered his mouth. 

“I don’t care what we do as long as we decide,” said Bucky into Steve’s hand. 

“Then…let’s go to the fireworks.”

Bucky picked up the picnic blanket and headed downstairs as silently as possible. Steve followed behind and locked the door when they left. It made him nervous to leave Sarah alone when she slept with an unlocked door. Sarah never cared but Steve couldn’t handle the anxiety.

“Or should we go to a party? I’m sixteen now, shouldn’t I have some big—“

“Do you want to go to a party? Do you want that or do you think you’re supposed to want that?” said Bucky.

“Well…parties…if they were quieter with…less people—I just hate having so many people around and it being so loud with my bad ear. If my hearing were fine I’d—“

“It’s your birthday! Let’s go watch the fireworks.”

Steve didn’t like parties initially because they were always just Matthew and the other boys loudly making passes at the girls that came and Steve felt out of place. He loved parties when he had Marnie. He hated them again now that he knew Marnie would be at them all. His deaf ear was an excuse, a good excuse but still an excuse.

Bucky didn’t mind. They’d gone from ages seven to sixteen having never missed the fireworks show. 

“Can’t believe they put on such a show for your birthday.”

“You gonna make that joke every year?”

“What joke?”

“I know you’d rather be at Lara’s parent’s house drinkin’ her dad’s booze so…thanks for not…doing that.”

“Steve, shut up.”

He did. They cheered on the fireworks show and split the beer they bought. They had enough money for one and a half. They stopped doing gifts three years ago when they realized they gave each other comics only to put them in their shared collection in Steve’s closet. 

“I got you something this year.”

“Fuck, seriously? You can’t get me something, your birthday is before mine and I already didn’t get you something.”

“I got money from the docks left over. If not you, who’m I gonna spend it on. Lara’s gone.”

“I’m your new girl then?” laughed Steve. 

 

 

 

They sat on the fire escape, Steve ripped the newspaper off of Bucky’s gift. Sarah left for work thirty minutes before they got home, Joseph was due in an hour. Steve threw the newspaper back through the window. 

“Is this…leather?” said Steve.

“Yeah, real leather.” 

Steve turned the sketchbook over in his hand and traced the faint, distinct pattern of leather. “It’s actually leather?”

“Yes, dammit!” laughed Bucky. Steve untied the leather tie and ran his fingers over the grain of the paper. “I don’t know if the paper’s any good. I don’t know much about paper. The guy at the shop said that rough was better, it was more expensive so I believed him.”

“He’s right, it uh…holds the charcoal and lead better…” his fingers kept tracing the papers. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Damn, I can’t believe I got you jack shit for your birthday—“

“My room’s not even big enough to hold jack shit, don’t worry about it. Plus this is kind of a present to myself. Now you’ve got no excuse not to draw me some constellations.”

“Let’s start then.”

Steve got his pencils out. Bucky laid down and described two or three fake constellations. Steve’s pencil whipped around the page in a hurry to keep up with what Bucky created. Steve’s eyelashes were translucent, he was so damn blond. They got darker as the years passed, so did his hair, but they still caught moonlight in a way no one else’s could.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve didn’t look up from his drawing.

“Would you rather us be friends or have a wife?”

Steve chuckled but kept his eyes on his paper. “Who said I can’t have both?”

“What if your wife hates me?”

“I wouldn’t marry a woman who could hate you. The odds of that are slim to none anyway, everyone loves you.”

“Who knows, though. I’m cursed after all.”

“UGH!” Steve slammed his sketchbook closed and threw it back inside, onto his bed. “What do I have to do to convince you you’re not a curse? I’ll do it, whatever it is!”

“I have proof!” Bucky sat up to punctuate his point. 

“Having dark hair and grey eyes isn’t proof! It’s just genetics! Your mom is stupid—There I said it! I said it and I don’t take it back! She’s too stupid to know you’re the best person she could’ve hoped to give birth to and she’s lucky to have you! God should punish her for making you think you’re cursed! And God should punish Matthew Donovan and any other kid who ever went along with it!” Steve held back a smile when he looked at Bucky. It was a nervous smile after calling Bucky’s mother stupid. 

Bucky laughed and Steve relaxed. “God, I love you.”

Steve made a face when he heard that. Bucky pretended not to see it. 

“So…what’s got you worried about who I’m gonna marry?”

“I don’t know…Marnie left because ‘a me—“

“That’s different and we don’t have to talk about it,” interrupted Steve.

“I just mean that…we’re close. Sometimes I worry that women’ll make us grow apart before they’ll marry us.”

“You’re supposed to marry your best friend though, maybe we’ll be so in love with them we won’t mind.”

“I never want someone to replace you,” said Bucky. The hurt came through in his voice. 

“Buck. I’m not goin’ anywhere, okay? You worry about the weirdest shit.”

Bucky smirked but it faded. Steve nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to Lara’s party. You need some fun.”

 

 

 

“Where’re you going?” groaned Tommy. Bucky rummaged around their room for clothes. 

“To Steve’s.”

“It’s so fuckin’ early, he won’t wanna see you.”

“The summer’s almost over, if I don’t sleep over there I at least gotta show up early.”

“Or,” Tommy sat up, “you could make a new friend. Just a theory.”

Bucky hurried over. He hadn’t seen Steve for almost a full week thanks to their work schedules. With all the overtime they both packed in, there were fewer and fewer times they were both off duty. Today was one of those rare times and Bucky planned to make it last as long as possible.

He threw a few pebbles up to Steve’s window to warn him he was coming in. He jumped, caught the fire escape ladder, and climbed up. When he pressed his face to the window he saw Steve wasn’t in his bed. It was perfectly made up still. Bucky jostled the lock and let himself in. He checked the bathroom. No Steve. 

He held his boots in his hand when he meandered down the stairs hoping he wouldn’t wake Sarah or Joseph. Halfway down the steps he saw Sarah, asleep on the couch and a makeshift bed on the floor next to her, empty. Bucky looked over the other side of the banister, into the kitchen, and saw Steve. 

“Hey,” whispered Bucky. Steve didn’t even jump.

“Hi.”

“What’s going on?”

“Well…” Steve took a shuddering breath in. 

“Wait, let me get down there.” Bucky hurried down the rest of the steps and threw his boots by the front door. Steve’s eyes were red, his cheeks tear-stained. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Dad died,” said Steve.

Bucky’s heart stopped. “He…What happened?”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “Heart attack at work yesterday and he…died.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He put an arm around his shoulders. Steve leaned into him. He didn’t cry, must’ve already cried enough for one lifetime. Bucky held him for however long he needed. His mind raced while he did. Joseph couldn’t be dead. It didn’t make sense. He’d just seen him the day before last. He made him coffee. He held Steve tighter. 

The only thing he could think of to console Steve was making him breakfast. He poured the coffee and started frying eggs. He was too sloppy, too shaky, and they turned into scrambled eggs. 

“Do you want me to let people know? So they don’t bug you for awhile?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah…yeah that’d be good. I don’t wanna have to explain.”

The sound of the eggs cooking became deafening for a few beats. 

“My mom’ll bring by some lasagnas I’m sure. I’ll tell Marnie for you,” said Bucky.

“Thanks, Buck…” his voice trailed off. 

““I’ll go before your mom gets up, I don’t wanna bother her,” said Bucky. The eggs were overdone. He pushed them out onto a plate and laid down two thick strips of bacon. 

“If that’s what you wanna do.” Steve voice was barely audible.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, really.” He sounded so defeated. And there was nothing Bucky could do to cheer him up this time.

“I’ll tell my mom to come down, we’ll be by tomorrow afternoon I think with the lasagnas and…helping your mom with everything,” said Bucky. “I’m with ya, Stevie.”

“Morning boys,” said Sarah. Bucky jumped when he heard her voice and burned his knuckled on the pan.

“I didn’t mean to disturb, Mrs. Rogers. I was just leaving —“ said Bucky. He took the bacon out of the pan with his bare hands. 

“It’s okay, Bucky. You’re sweet to make breakfast,” interrupted Sarah. She sat next to Steve where Bucky had been. 

“I…I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Bucky. He’d never been very adept at dealing with death, nothing profound came to mind. “I’ll get out from underfoot and get my mom started on lasagnas and…whatever else you need.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” said Sarah.

He left before he’d even laced his boots back up.

 

 

 

Bucky’s mother helped Sarah plan the funeral. Bucky didn’t know how to help Steve. Nothing he said would bring his father back. He wasn’t keeping him afloat until things went back to normal, he was watching him adjust to a new normal. He didn’t know how to do that. 

But being with him helped, on some level. Just being in the room helped. After the funeral home was picked out and the date set, Bucky didn’t see Steve until the day of the funeral. He needed time with his mother. She’d be more help to him than Bucky could ever be. 

Steve sat up front for the service. He didn’t cry. Maybe he was being brave or strong, or maybe he’d cried himself out. Either way, he was stoic while he gave the eulogy. Bucky cried for him. There was much unspoken love between Bucky and Joseph. He was always more of a father than his own. It wasn’t until then that he wished it wasn’t unspoken. Wished he mentioned, even once, how much he meant to him.

Bucky was a pallbearer along with Steve and a few of Joseph’s friends. Sarah held Steve tight as they lowered his body. 

Then came the wake. The church put food out for the mourners. Bucky’s mother was talking to Sarah, so Steve wandered to him. Bucky had a plate prepped for him. 

“How you holdin’ up?”

“I don’t know anymore,” groaned Steve. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“I…” Steve checked over his shoulder. “I can’t leave…”

“Your mom’s okay, she’ll be fine if you get some air.”

They snuck out the side door and walked around the church. Their wandering took them to the baseball diamond, which took them to the dugout. They sat and ate the cucumber sandwiches in silence. Bucky had no words, all he could offer was his presence, and a few sandwiches. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Steve suddenly.

“I’m…Of course, I’m here,” said Bucky.

“I mean I think you understand it better. You told me before he was the father you never had. I know you’re hurting too.” Steve took the last bite of the cucumber sandwich. His eyes were fixed on the opposing team’s dugout.

“I’m not hurting like you, not nearly as bad.”

Steve shrugged. “Who’s to say what hurts the most…ya know? But you lost a dad in a way too. My mom’s in a different kinda pain. You’re supposed to bury your parents…hopefully when you’re older… But you don’t really expect this kinda thing. Not my mom anyway. She’s always been so sure she’d die first, especially when my dad survived the war. I just…I don’t know how to get her through it… So I’m glad you’re here and you know,”

“I’ll always be here for you, Steve. For anything.”

“I know.’ Steve cracked a smile, the first one in days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so some warnings for this chapter just in case anyone needs it, there is a threat of rape but the threat is as far as it goes so you don't have to worry about anything past that. Anyway thank you to anyone reading this and please comment if you're liking it so far! <3

 

Sniper training was mindless. Bucky’s mind could wander. It was all second nature to him now. Agent Carter had long since had the official targets removed and replaced them with camouflage tucked away in the shooting range. They had to rely completely on their own gun and their own scope and their own eyes. The first days of hidden targets was frustrating but eventually Bucky, and the other men, got the hang of it. 

Carter never applauded them and always made them run the mile back to base. Her coldness during the day, during workouts and practice, let Bucky appreciate how rare the short conversation they had outside the barracks was. It couldn’t be easy to be the only woman on base, save the nurses. She had to command respect but unlike any of the other officers, she had to earn it. Maybe being cold and unfeeling was the only way to do it. 

Was she like that normally? When she went home to her husband and kids, did she smile? Maybe she never stopped smiling. Maybe as soon as she stepped on base the happiness drained out of her and she only got it back when she went home. No matter the case, it was her coldness that kept her safe. 

He felt strange worrying about her safety considering the physical strength she demonstrated her first day and her obvious power. But a woman amongst this breed of man wasn’t safe. Not entirely. Especially not this far into their training. They were snapping left and right, less and less did the laws matter to them. The closer they got to the end of their sentence the more fear and frustration and anger overcame them. Bucky considered himself the most level headed out of everyone, and even he broke for one night and attacked Dobbs.

“Think she’s a dike?” whispered Lewandowski to Bucky and Randalls over dinner. 

“Why d’you think that?” sighed Randalls. “Because she hasn’t fallen in love with you?”

“Not just me, nobody. She hasn’t looked anyone’s way.” He said it like it was proof. 

“Maybe she has,” said Bucky. “Maybe she’s got a crush on one of us. But she’s a superior, and a professional.”

“She’s a woman,” said Lewandowski. “She’s around the cream of the man crop—”

“The what?” laughed Randalls. Bucky choked on his mystery meat. He caught his breath to laugh. “The man crop?”

“Yeah, us guys! Shut up! We’re all selected to be soldiers, we’re the best of the best. There’s only one reason she’d be able to resist.”

“You’re right, Lew. Your masculine charm is overwhelming,” said Bucky. Randalls was still wiping his eyes over ‘man crop’.

“I’m right,” said Lewandowski. 

“So what if you are?” said Bucky. “So what? What’s so wrong about her, huh?”

“This the hill you wanna die on?” whispered Randalls to Bucky. There was still a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“Women like that…just a waste huh?” said Lewandowski.

“Waste ‘a what?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m an openminded man. Them girls what look like little boys and fuck each other, sure, let ‘em go. But a bombshell like Carter…Come on.”

“You’re a true humanitarian, Lew,” said Randalls. 

Lunging over the dinner table, strangling Lewandowski, it wouldn’t end well. Bashing him with the metal tray full of fucked up food, that wouldn’t end well either. Trying to reason with him, explain to him anything outside of his own little world, it was pointless. Bucky bit hit tongue his whole life. But the damn war was taking even that from him. Biting his tongue was difficult again. 

“You alright, Barnes?” said Randalls.

“Yeah…meat’s not sittin’ right.”

“Bet she needs a man, a real man. Think that’s what a lot of ‘em need. Some attention. No man looks twice when the girls look all masculine like some of ‘em do. That’s why they gotta do it to each other but…a girl like her’s still got hope,” said Lewandowski to no one in particular.

“God help the poor bitch who marries you,” muttered Randalls. 

Bucky mumbled something about his stomach and left. For the first time since his very first night, he didn’t finish his food. He followed some of the men who were also done back to the barracks. There was a helplessness around being angry but being unable to express why. It only fueled the anger. He remembered it from childhood and adolescence. That vague anger and frustration about life. Now, even with titles and labels for the source of that anger, he could do nothing. 

The shower didn’t help, staring at the ceiling didn’t help, trying to fall asleep didn’t help. He wandered outside again. He braced himself on the railing by the steps up to the door. Every muscle in his body wanted a fight. He didn’t know what or who, he just wanted to hit and claw and scream at something. He settled for shaking the metal railing as hard as he could. It rattled, he didn’t care if he was spotted out of bed. 

The tears flooding his eyes were of frustration. The army, a war, it was all bad enough for most people, but worse for Bucky. Everything was worse for Bucky. He pulled his hair in fistfuls. It wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he pulled. He wanted to scream, to run. He could run back to New York. Barefoot and half naked, he could make it to New York. He could see his family. And Steve. His eyes reluctantly looked up to see the same star-filled sky. 

The sky out there was clearer than in Brooklyn. There were more stars than Bucky’d ever seen. That was the only thing he wished Steve would see of the bootcamp. The stars. If Steve were next to him now, they could take up the whole night drawing constellations. Bucky already had a few ideas ready to go if only Steve could hear him.

Where was Steve, right in that moment. What was he doing. In their apartment asleep probably. Could he reach the big pot on top of the cabinets. Bucky could barely reach that one. Maybe he bought a step stool. Maybe one of Bucky’s brothers helped him. Maybe they hadn’t been deployed yet. He didn’t like to wonder about if they had already. He might’ve prayed to God to keep his brothers at home, at least until Bucky could say goodbye, but what good would it do? When had God ever listened to any of Bucky’s prayers.

He prayed to God to keep his brother safe. God wouldn’t listen but he’d regret it if he didn’t. He went back to bed. 

 

 

 

“She’s teasing us,” said Lewandowski.

“What’re you talking about?” asked Dobbs.

Randalls pulled his shirt on over his big head. “He thinks Carter’s a dike. He has a simultaneous theory going that she’s looking for the right man.”

“You guys have too much time on your hands.”

“We all have the same amount of time on our hands, dumbass.”

They were the only ones left. Everyone else had filed out for breakfast. 

“Finally!” said Lewandowski. “Now that we’ve got some fuckin’ privacy, I got a proposition for us and us alone. Sniper’s privilege or whatever.”

“Stevenson’s a sniper—” began Randalls. Anything to get under Lewandowski’s skin. 

“Stevenson’s a squirrelly little cunt alright. He’s a goody two shoes and he fuckin’ grates on my nerves. He’s not invited!” Lewandowski took a deep breath, Randalls suppressed a laugh. “Anyway, what say we get Carter off our backs by getting her on to hers?”

“What you wanna try to seduce her. She wouldn’t know your name if it weren’t strapped to your chest all day,” said Dobbs.

“It is strapped to his chest all day,” laughed Randalls.

“We can make her notice us,” offered Lewandowski. They shifted uncomfortably in the silence. They knew what he meant, and they were trying to figure out what page everyone else was one. Bucky knew what page he was on, but he’d never assume normal men thought the same. Especially normal men in war. 

“You serious?” said Dobbs.

“As a heart attack.”

Dobbs shook his head and laughed. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

They left after that. They didn’t say another word about it. Did that mean they all agreed to it? Did that mean it was obviously not going to happen. Did that mean they were leaving Lewandowski to his own devices. Bucky thought about it all day. His shooting was off. Randalls noticed, he was his partner after all. But he said nothing. 

He was silent on the run back. Usually he had to pretend to be listening to Dobbs. Dobbs was silent too. They were all thinking about it, Bucky could tell. They caught dinner. The other men were already done eating. Initially everyone envied their sniper training but after seeing how much extra work they had, pity replaced envy. 

They showered and got in bed undisturbed. Lewandowski hadn’t said another word about it. Neither had anyone else. But it kept Bucky awake. Staring at the grain of the ceiling, wondering if this was how far they’d sunk. This was the level they were at, they were all considering or not considering or letting Lewandowski get away with something so abhorrent. They hadn’t even gotten to the fucking war yet, they were still in the safe arms of America and their moral compasses were completely shot. He needed air. 

He felt more at home in the cold night, under the blanket of foreign stars, shaking the railing like his life depended on it, than he’d felt in months. Sure, if he got caught, he’d earn the entire unit extra laps, but he didn’t care if it meant he could clear his head. Even just for a few minutes. He could pick out some constellations he’d give to Steve when he got home. His creativity went unchallenged in bootcamp. Creating constellations were his only outlet, and he only got it in the eerie solitude of the barracks at night.

“Barnes!” said the only female voice on base. The barracks had steps, had railings, had raised walkways to keep out of the mud that rested between each building. Carter never used the walkways. Her and her combat boots trudged through the mud every time he saw her. Bucky never understood why, no one would blame her for using the walks on the buildings. Or the makeshift planks of wood placed in random areas meant to act like a walkway. She always chose the mud.

“Yes ma’am!” said Bucky. He stood up straight. He waited patiently for her to walk at an agonizingly slow pace over to where he stood by the railing. She stared up at him from ground. 

“Look at me soldier,” said Carter. She was an average women in regards to height. Maybe an inch above average. She was at least four inches shorter than everyone on base. But in Bucky’s mind, when he pictured her, she was taller than him. Even now, as he looked over a railing at her, she was looking down at him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I…was…I needed air, ma’am.”

She sighed, a heavy sigh, and climbed the steps to meet him by the railing. Her eyes locked on his, he still felt shorter, smaller than her. “What weighs on you so heavily that you can’t sleep like this night after night?”

“Nothing,” said Bucky automatically.

“Did you leave behind a family?”

“Not…really. I have no kids,” said Bucky.

“A wife?”

“I have siblings.”

“Brothers?”

“They left for bootcamp before I ever did.”

“If God wants you to see them again, He’ll make it happen. You mustn’t let yourself be distracted by what you cannot control. In situations like war, that’s very dangerous.”

“Ma’am, there’s another thing keeping me up,” it was coming out. 

“By all means, private,” said Carter.

“Private Lewandowski called you a dike and I’m worried he’s gonna make good on his threat to…fix it,” said Bucky. It came out smoother than he thought it would. Still, rough.

Carter’s hint of smile faded. “I see. He threatened to…and what did you say when he made that threat?”

“I…said nothing.”

“Did anyone say anything?”

“No.”

She stared off into space for a few moments. Bucky stayed at attention. She leant back against the railing eventually and stared up at the stars. “Back in London, you can’t see so many.”

“That’s true in Brooklyn too, ma’am. Never seen the sky like that.”

“I can’t say I ever looked in London. It never interested me. But out here it makes you feel small.”

“Makes the war feel small.”

“Is it God, Barnes. Do you think?”

“Ma’am?”

“These stars. Who are they?”

Muddy footsteps came up the road. A sergeant trudged up and stared at the two of them from the mud. “What’s going on, why’s he out of bed?”

“He’s reporting a crime to me, sergeant. Never you mind,” said Carter without ever looking at him. “Continue your rounds.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She waited until he was out of earshot to speak again. “I wonder if maybe that’s how God sees. Each star, another eye.”

“I’d never considered that.”

“I won’t call myself religious, but I wonder often. There are so many eyes for Him to see with. To see what’s happening to the Jews, to see your friend ‘fixing’ me. And He doesn’t do anything. We have to fix it ourselves, and sometimes we can’t.”

“There a lot in my life that I couldn’t fix,” said Bucky with an uncomfortable laugh. This was the longest he’d spoken to her without her yelling a command at him.

“You think it’s a sign that God’s looking the other way while things happen to you?”

“Maybe.”

“I feel that way too.” That hint of a smile returned. “Often, I feel that way.”

It didn’t feel right to have a real conversation with Carter. She was marble and unyielding. He was far too lowly to see the human side of her. He knew it didn’t feel right to her either. But the whole night felt wrong. 

She fell silent for a few minutes. Her skin was as pale as Steve’s, maybe more so. It was pure white in the moonlight. Her red lips looked purple or blue. Her hair looked black. She looked tired, worn out, and weary. She looked how he felt. The only time he’d seen her look anything less than strong and assured. “I’ll check on your brothers. I’ll see if they’ve been deployed.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so much,” said Bucky. 

“And thank you, private. This will likely be my last shift of night checks. I fear no Lewandowski, but I won’t make it easy for him,” said Carter. “But I’ve enjoyed our talk.”

“Me too…ma’am,” added Bucky. 

“Back to bed, Barnes.” Peggy marched through the mud back to the officer’s tent where she stayed. Bucky didn’t watch her go for too long. He padded his way back through the barracks and up into his bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Sorry it took me so long to update! But you can probably see why. This chapter is 17k long so naturally it took me some time to edit haha! (And that's all I'm doing is editing and posting since the fic is already done). Comment if you can or want to, I really appreciate it!

 

The road to recovery for Steve was long. Sarah’s was even longer. The hours of a nurse didn’t balance out in pay. Without Joseph’s money coming in, she couldn’t afford to nurse anymore. She got a job from Bucky’s mother working in a garment factory and taking in the laundry from the neighbors. Steve doubled his hours over the summer at the pharmacy. It kept their mind’s busy and when Steve got off work, Bucky was there to distract him. Bucky and Marnie. Marnie, and Lara, let bygones be bygones after the funeral. Their petty squabbles were forgotten and the friendships remained. Even Matthew was generous and didn’t charge his usual dime per cast line from his brother’s fishing pole. With the girls befriended again, they had the means to go to out. 

It began slow. Bucky wanted Steve to get out of the house so he invited him out to go dancing with Marnie. Steve couldn’t dance but when he knew he had a partner, he loved it. Lara came for Bucky and got him to smile a few times. Then it was going to Matthew’s parties. Then it was back to Coney Island with Marnie and Lara. They had the most fun as a group of four. 

Luna Park would always be the toughest one for both Steve and Bucky to even look at. Joseph loved it just as much, if not more than them. But Bucky got them to a point where nostalgia overcame grief when they saw those glittering lights. It felt good to be back in a routine of going out again. There was an element of guilt that wouldn’t leave, but Bucky shouldered it for Steve. The last thing he needed was to feel guilty for moving on. 

“He looks good,” said Marnie. Steve splashed in the frigid water with Lara. Marnie and Bucky stayed behind and sat in the sand. “Think he gained weight.”

“Gained back some of what he lost, I guess,” said Bucky. 

“It’s been, what nine months now?”

“A little over, yeah.” Bucky took a bite of Lara’s hotdog. 

“You’re doing good. As his friend, you’re doing good. You’re getting him through it.”

“Time’s doin’ most of the work.”

“You’re being humble…” Marnie stretched her legs out in front of her to match Bucky. “Hey, I’m sorry things got so weird when Steve and I broke it off. I didn’t know how to be around you two anymore.”

“He told me. I know you know,” said Bucky. He looked over at her briefly. She was red, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I don’t know…I don’t know what to think about it. But that’s not what did it. I just couldn’t…be with him anymore. I didn’t love him.”

“What? Ever?”

“Maybe at the beginning, but it wasn’t natural,” said Marnie. “Something always felt off.”

“You don’t know what you had,” spat Bucky.

“Yes I do!” Marnie kicked sand onto his legs. “I know how wonderful Steve is! But not for me, he’s wonderful for someone else.”

Bucky said nothing. Marnie sat up in a huff and joined Steve and Lara at the edge of the water. The sun was just dipping below the horizon. Bucky squinted into it to watch the three of them play. He’d join another day. For now he was content watching. 

His eyes drooped, he could’ve fallen asleep. But Steve wandered back up to him. The sun haloing his entire body. His blond hair looked like it was on fire. Bucky stared in silence when he kicked the bottom of Bucky’s shoe. 

“I think I’m gonna walk down the beach a little.”

“Is that an invitation?” replied Bucky. Steve responded by holding out a hand. Bucky took it. 

The girls danced in the water, oblivious to their departure. The beach was mostly empty. Bucky hated when the beach was empty, it made him paranoid about whatever sea life scared everyone off. But he forgot to be afraid next to Steve. Their hands were deep in their pockets, their eyes focused on not stepping on glass or shells. Their minds racing. 

“When do we turn around?” asked Bucky. It broke the long silence but they’d walked far enough that the girls were barely visible. 

“Later,” Steve sat down. He patted the sand next to him and Bucky did the same. 

“You okay?”

“I wanna say thanks to you, Buck.”

“That why you dragged me out to a secluded part of the beach? To thank me?” teased Bucky. 

“I mean it,” said Steve, a smile spreading across his face. “I mean it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m gonna.”

“Oh I thought you just did.”

“Would you shut up for one second?” 

“What a hostile thank you,” said Bucky. “Please, continue.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and watched the sun glow orange on the water. “I just wanna say that you’re my best friend. You know you…you became my friend when no one would. And you stuck with me. And even now, when it’s hard, when you knew it would take me a long time to be happy again. If ever. You didn’t think twice about being with me. Not…not every friend would do that.” Bucky could hear the tears in his voice. “Even now, even with how sad I am, I feel so lucky that I know you.”

Steve kept his eyes forward. No matter how much Bucky stared at him, he wouldn’t look. So he put his arm around Steve. And squeezed. 

“I love you too.”

Steve wiped his eyes and scooted closer. Bucky put his other arm around him and held him. There was no one to stare, no one to judge them. 

Steve pulled away and laughed. Bucky did too. They could never take their emotions, no matter how strong, very seriously. He wiped his cheeks and looked at Bucky, Bucky looked back. Steve’s skin was so damn pale, it turned the burning orange of the sun’s reflection.

They said nothing. Just stared. Bucky swore, on God, that he saw Steve’s eyes flick down to his mouth. And back up. There was no misunderstanding that. He scooted closer, incrementally. He would’ve leant in, would’ve kissed Steve, would’ve taken him there on the beach, would’ve married him and whisked him away. But Steve turned away. There was no misunderstanding that either. 

“Come on,” said Steve. He stood and shook the sand off his pants. “Let’s head back to the girls.”

The girls waltzed each other through the water. Steve called them back over. The four of them got the cheapest dinner they could find at the nearest beach-front diner. The orange glow from the sun turned into pinks, purples, blues, and then darkness. Bucky hadn’t seen Steve smile so much since his dad died. 

They jumped the turnstiles and got on the train home. They were four of few on the train that night, the youngest there by far. Bothering the other commuters with their laughter. Steve was laughing too. About what, no one remembered, but he was laughing nonetheless. He and Steve got off and let the girls ride one more stop home. Bucky belted out a tuneless song on their short walk up from the darkness of the train to the moonlit streets above. 

“Shut up!” said Steve. “You sound horrible!”

“I’ve been told by reliable sources that I sing like an angel,” said Bucky. He waited at the top of the stone steps for Steve. His lungs were tired.

“I’m half deaf and even I can hear you miss those notes.”

“Walk home alone.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” wheezed Steve as he made it to the top. 

Steve used Bucky as a crutch for most of the walk home. He was just too worn out. They detoured through alleys to shorten the trip as much as they could. The ocean opened his lungs a bit, heading back into the smog and pollen of the city was always a tough thirty minutes of adjustment for him. He kept his arm draped around Bucky who practically carried him. He could hear him wheeze when he put his ear to his chest.

“I mean it, stop making me laugh,” panted Steve.

“I haven’t heard it in so long,” replied Bucky. “I can’t help it.”

“I need a break.” Steve pushed off of Bucky and leant on the wall of a brownstone. “Just a second.”

“I got nowhere to be, take all you need.” Bucky kicked the sides of Steve’s shoes with his own. Steve looked best in moonlight. Or sunlight. Any light, any darkness. He looked good. His eyes reflected the moonlight perfectly. The blue in his iris matched the hazy blue rings around the moon that night. Those eyes were boring into him, like Steve saw right through him.

And he did it again. He looked at Bucky’s mouth, quick but noticeable. He didn’t think about it too much, if he did he’d never pull the trigger. He shuffled closer to Steve, and leaned in to him. 

And panic plastered itself all over Steve’s face. “What’re you doing?”

No words came to mind. No thoughts either. No feelings. Just panic. The answer was there in the silence. Steve figured it out on his own. He shoved himself off the wall and took care not to touch any part of Bucky as his heavy footsteps hurried out of the alley. 

 

 

 

“Steve wait!”

“Go home, Buck!” 

Steve was a few paces in front of Bucky. The last few blocks, Steve wouldn’t say a word. Telling him to go home was progress of some kind. They turned onto Steve’s street. Something felt final about Steve getting inside and locking his door. It felt like his world hinged on that, like if he let Steve go home now his life would end. 

“Steve, please!” shouted Bucky. 

“GO!” screamed Steve. A few heads peeked out of a few windows. But when they saw no fight was breaking out, they disappeared. Steve hurried the last few yards to his stoop. That’s where Bucky drew the line. He grabbed his arm at the streetlamp just before his front steps. He was stronger than Steve, always had been. He’d never used it against him. Not once. It didn’t feel good.

“Please, hear me out.”

“I don’t wanna!” Steve yanked his arm away. “I don’t wanna hear…anything about it.”

“About—about nothing! It’s not what you think!”

“It’s not nothing!” Steve looked over his shoulders and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You did that to me that night in the school gym…”

“It didn’t mean anything!” insisted Bucky. It did mean something. To him. And he thought to Steve.

“I don’t wanna know,” hissed Steve through gritted teeth. “I got enough on my plate right now I don’t need to deal with a fuckin…this. Don’t you ever fuckin’ look at me like that again.”

“I didn’t look at you any kind ‘a way!” spat Bucky. “You misunderstood—“

“Don’t make it out that I’m crazy, Buck!”

“Well I’m damn sure not gonna let you make it out that I’m some pervert!” Bucky took a deep breath. “I swear on every angel there fuckin’ is, it wasn’t what you think.”

Steve stayed quiet for a moment. Bucky thought he won him over. He’d justify it all to himself later, but for now he needed Steve to believe him. 

“You are cursed,” muttered Steve finally. 

“What?” Bucky took a tentative step towards him and Steve backed up.

“I think we’re spending too much time together.” 

“What’re you talking about? We’re close.”

“Clearly we’re too close!” spat Steve. Bucky looked at him with wide, confused eyes. Steve looked back, the blue of the moon in his eyes still. 

“Steve, you’re makin’ a mountain out of a mole hill—“

“Twice now, you’ve come because of me!” screamed Steve. Bucky tensed, wondering if anyone heard that. “This is the last straw, I’m not lookin’ the other way anymore! This isn’t normal! You are cursed, you’re a turning into a fuckin’ faggot!”

Words weren’t coming out. No thoughts formed. He was just flooded with anger. And it had to come out. So it did. He hit Steve. He’d hit him before, as kids. In a fight over something insignificant. Bucky cried harder than Steve did then. But he didn’t feel guilt now. He punched him square in the stomach, Steve coughed and sputtered and braced himself on the lamppost. 

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that!” 

Steve didn’t say anything. Just lunged at Bucky. He had more strength than Bucky expected, but not nearly enough to overpower him. They got into a tangle of half cocked punches to whatever they could hit, rolling and biting and scratching. Steve drew blood from Bucky’s eyebrow. When Bucky finally pinned him to the tar, it dripped onto Steve’s cheek. 

One hand on each wrist. Bucky had him. Steve stopped kicking eventually and they caught their breath. 

“What’re you gonna do now, Buck? Try to kiss me again?” 

Bucky’s grip on his tiny little wrists got tighter. “Who are you, Steve?! You’re not this cruel!”

“I wasn’t until you got all these fuckin’ ideas!” 

“I don’t have any fuckin’ ideas! You’re so worried about being normal that you can’t stand anything unique! We’re close, different stuff happens between us sometimes, that doesn’t make it what you think it is!”

“Get the hell off me.” Steve’s voice was quiet. 

“You’re a piece a shit.” 

“Better an asshole than a queer.”

Bucky spit on him and shoved his wrists into the tar one more time before standing up. Steve didn’t sit up, just wiped his chin. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ ever come whining to me about anything ever again, Steve! Never again! Stay the fuck away from me! You win, I hate you!”

He ran to the next block and stopped in an alley for a few moments. He didn’t want to cry, he wanted to scream. But he cried. He hadn’t cried so hard in a long time. Once he knew it wasn’t going to stop, he continued his walk home. A slow, somber walk. He couldn’t collect his damn thoughts, there were too many. He didn’t know what he felt, he didn’t know what the hell he wanted. But he knew what he saw, and he saw Steve look at him. Like that. On the beach. He didn’t understand anything whirling in him, but he knew the same was whirling in Steve. How dare he pretend like Bucky was a fucking mutant for it, whatever it was.

His parents were going over something in the dining room when he came in. He said quick, faceless hellos and hurried up to the bathroom. He ran the bath. While he waited for the hot water, he dabbed a wet towel at the cut Steve clawed into his eyebrow. It stung and it bled, but it’d be fine. He braced himself and patted antiseptic on it. 

The bath didn’t clear his head. It gave him time to think but he didn’t know what to think anymore. He’d never heard Steve be so dark. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t know how to make something like that better. The water got cold, he got out. He took a long time combing his hair into place. He dabbed more antiseptic onto his eyebrow. Before he closed the medicine cabinet, he saw Rebecca’s gold tube of lipstick. 

It was on him before he knew what was happening. Spread across his lips, staining them the deep red that Rebecca loved so much. Was that what he needed? Was that helping? Was that clearing things up? He looked at himself in the dingy mirror. It didn’t help. He didn’t want femininity, or womanhood, he wasn’t even sure he wanted Steve. But something was different, wrong with him. The tub didn’t tell him what it was, the lipstick didn’t either. It wouldn’t come off with just his thumb. He ran a towel under water to scrub it off first his thumb then his lips.

“Bucky,” said Tommy. He burst through the door. “I gotta get in here—whoa.”

Bucky turned around in a panic. Tommy let out an uncomfortable laugh. “What the fuck?”

“Mo-om,” said Rebecca as she headed down the hall, “Tommy said ‘fuck’.”

It was seconds before his mother was in the room too. All of the color left her face when she saw Bucky standing there. She ran to tell his father, Tommy tried to stop her but to no avail. His father grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the steps and into the open space of the living room. 

Bucky’d been hit with the belt less than all of his siblings. He didn’t misbehave as much as them, or at least didn’t get caught. The only time his father had ever been serious about a beating was when Bucky accidentally broke Rebecca’s arm back in grammar school. He cried out of fear back then, and he wanted to do the same now. 

The belt was the one his father inherited. It was thick, rawhide, with two brass tacks at either end. It cracked against his back. Bucky contorted in pain and wished his siblings wouldn’t watch him from the top of the stairs. He curled up but the belt kept hitting. He kept formulating possible reasons, excuses for the lipstick. None of them ended without a beating. So he made no excuses, and his father didn’t have to tell him what he’d done wrong. They all knew.

It cracked on his face. Against his cheek and up to his eye. He screamed. It was a pathetic enough scream that he heard Rebecca yell ‘stop’. Mercifully, his father did at very least pause his torture. Bucky blinked once, twice, three times. 

“I can’t see,” the panic in his voice mixed with tears. “I can’t see!”

His mother sat him up on the floor and put a hand on either side of his face. She squinted and stared at his right eye. There was fear and concern on her face, Bucky could see that with his undamaged eye. It wasn’t comforting. 

“It’s fine, it’s just bruised, I’m sure.”

“Why can’t I see?” He grabbed her wrist. 

“Rebecca, go get him a steak for his eye!”

He heard, but didn’t see, Rebecca clamber down the stairs. There was blood on his mother’s hand. His cheek was split open too. It didn’t hurt yet. Rebecca slammed a steak on his eye and his cheek and their parents ordered everyone upstairs and sleeping for church the next morning. Tommy stumbled up the stairs with him. 

 

 

 

“Raw meat’s probably not great for the cut,” said Tommy. He peeled the steak off of Bucky’s eye and warned him before he poured antiseptic down his cheek. “Knowing Dad, he’s gonna still cook this up and I don’t wanna eat a big bloody steak. How’s the eye? See anything?”

“It’s still just stars,” said Bucky. 

Tommy used his shirtsleeve to wipe the lipstick off. They were silent until the last remnant of the makeup was gone. 

“Why was your eyebrow bleeding when you got home?”

“Steve and I got in a fight.” His voice was strained from the screaming. He sounded sick when he spoke. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t either.” He taped cotton pads to his cut. “It’ll look better in the morning.”

 

 

 

Bucky’s suit covered the bruises and welts that painted his back and shoulders. There was nothing that could cover his cheek and his eye. His cheek swelled overnight. It was purple and tender. His eye was bloody and horrifying to look at. But he could see out of it again, at very least.

The entire parish noticed little by little that Bucky was torn up. Bucky could tell by the whispers that floated around him. But they’d assume it was another fight. He and his brothers were known to get in fights, everyone their age was. God willing, there wouldn’t be any uncomfortable excuses to be made later. 

Sarah and Steve were already at the front. Bucky saw Steve begin to turn to get an eyeful, but looked away before he did. It was the first morning of the first day after they’d sworn off each other, and it already felt horrible. Everything felt horrible. Bucky kept his head was glued to the prayer sheet tucked into the pew in front of him. It was a sheet for children who hadn’t memorized the latin yet. Bucky read it over and over and hoped people would stop looking at him when he was done.

“Go and confess,” snapped his mother when Mass finally ended. Bucky would’ve gone without her prompting. He meekly wandered to the front of the church and got in the half-formed line of people.

“Hey Barnes,” said Matthew, a few people in front of him. “What’s with the face?”

“Tripped.”

“Fine, tell me later. The eye looks badass.” Matthew turned forward, the woman behind him scolded him for cursing. Bucky heard a wheezy cough somewhere behind him. He’d know it anywhere, and it was getting closer. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes forward. Steve stopped somewhere behind him. He could tell when Matthew waved at him. “Steve, you know what happened to Barnes’s face?”

“No clue,” replied Steve. Bucky didn’t turn to look at him. Matthew looked between the two of them for a few tense seconds before facing forward and waiting his turn in the same solemn silence as everyone else.

 

 

 

Dinner that night was tense. To say the least. All his siblings saw what happened, and the whole family was staring at the result. His cheek was twice it’s size, purple, red. It looked like hell, and so did Bucky. He kept his head down and ate as much of his dinner as he could. His appetite was weak, barely there at all. But if he didn’t force the food down he’d have to talk, and he’d die before he did that.

“Kids, you’re excused,” muttered his mother. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. He was the first out of his seat. “Bucky, stay.”

Tommy and Rebecca gave him supportive claps on the shoulder as they shuffled around him to leave. Once the swinging door settled, Bucky looked up at his parents. They looked as grim as the room felt. 

“James,” began his father, “your mother and I have been talking with each other and we think it’s best if you stay somewhere else.”

“Wh…But I live here.”

“We think you need to be around more boys, boys your own age, to get your head right,” added his mother. “We think you need some…masculine reinforcement. Living with your sisters has clearly taken a toll on you.”

“I live with my brothers too—You can’t just kick me out, it was a stupid…” He didn’t know how to finish that thought. A stupid what? Mistake? He did it on purpose. Misunderstanding? There was nothing vague about how they found him. 

“We aren’t kicking you out. But we do think it’d do you some good to live around your peers. You’re always at your best when you’re with Steve, and since his father’s passing you haven’t seen quite as much of him so think of it as making up for lost time.”

“You’re sending me to Steve’s?” As if it couldn’t get worse. 

“I already spoke with his mother. She’s agreed.”

“Did you even ask Steve?” spat Bucky. 

“Sarah will ask Steve and we’ll go from there,” said his mother. 

Bucky chewed his tongue. They’d made up their minds, nothing he said would change that. And he didn’t have anyone he could reasonably live with outside of Steve. Besides, living with someone other than Steve would raise questions. Not just with their parents but with the other kids. Nothing was private, not in their parish. 

“So…what you think I wanna be a woman? So you’re sending me to live with men?” said Bucky with a laugh. 

“You’re putting words in our mouths,” said his father.

“We think you’ve gotten a little too in-touch with your feminine side,” said his mother. “All you need is a little perspective on the world and how it sees you and so on. Just time away from home to straighten it all out.”

“I’m not bent.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” said his father firmly. 

“I need air.” Bucky jumped up from his seat, the china on the table shook in his wake. They called after him, he slammed the door. He damn near tripped over his own feet scrambling down the stairs and out to the street. Every inch of him still throbbed in pain from the night before. And he had nowhere to go. 

He started walking, no aim in mind. His thoughts wouldn’t gather. His mind was scattered and it was going to stay that way. His parents were too innocent, or ignorant, to accuse of him of the truth. All the muddled up feelings and thoughts he had were much worse than a little lipstick. God knew what they’d do if they knew about that. At very least they wouldn’t send him to Steve. 

“Hey Scarface!”

Bucky looked down the street. Matthew was sat on his stoop, BB gun in hand. Marcus stood on the opposite side of the street, two garbage can lids in his hands, hoisted in the air. Matthew fired and hit the metal. The BB ricocheted into next-door’s window.

Marcus dropped the lids and ran. Matthew groaned and stood. He sauntered over and strapped the gun across his chest. 

“What’re you lookin’ so down for?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m curious. What’s goin’ on with you and Rogers? He looked ready to kill you this morning.”

“We’re off.”

Matthew scoffed. “What do you mean you’re ‘off’?”

“I mean we’re done. We’re not friends, we’re nothing anymore.”

“What the hell happened?” The owner of the broken window stuck his head out of his door. Matthew grabbed Bucky’s wrist and ran them around the corner. Bucky’s body screamed the whole way, ever bruised muscle begged him to stop. He was panting by the time Matthew ducked them into an alley. “So…” Matthew already had his breath back and waited patiently for Bucky to do the same. “What happened?”

“We got into a fight.” Bucky coughed, his ribs ached. 

“He did that to you?” Matthew carefully put a hand on his face to prod his cheek. Bucky let him. It was easiest to give in to Matthew’s curiosity or he’d never let it go. 

“Ow, fuck!” Bucky swatted his hand away. “No. He didn’t. Separate issue with my dad.”

“Oh…” He looked guilty for bringing it up. “Well what happened with Steve?”

“He…” Nothing he could say would sound good. They all ended with Matthew kicking the shit out of him in the alley. There was no good way to put it because it wasn’t as innocent as he insisted it was. He wanted to take him right then and there and no matter what he told Steve nothing changed that. That made him angrier than anything Steve said. How had his thoughts become so…

“Buck?” Matthew snapped in front of his face. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry…I…”

“Always livin’ in your damn head,” he tapped Bucky’s temple. “This is more ‘a that curse. It always makes you blow things up, little things that don’t need to be blown up. Everything’s life or death with you.”

“Not this,” said Bucky through gritted teeth.

“This is some queer shit, c’mon. Go kiss and make up,” teased Matthew. 

Bucky’s muscles relaxed long enough for him to clock Matthew in the jaw. It was a mistake and he knew it halfway through the swing. Matthew stumbled back a few steps. Then he lunged at Bucky. Bucky in his bruised and beaten state was no match for Matthew. Hell, he was never a match for Matthew. Matthew had no cap on anger or rage or violence. It ended when his victim died or cried uncle. 

“UNCLE!” screamed Bucky as Matthew threatened to break his fingers. 

“Good,” panted Matthew. He climbed off of Bucky and helped him. If anything could be said about Matthew it was that he was a good winner. He dusted Bucky off. “Whatever it was you two fought over, it’s not worth it. The two a you, ‘ts like talkin’ to girls. Ye’s got so many fuckin’ feelings and they all mean so much. Always takes fuckin’ forever for yous to fuckin’ move on.”

“What do you know about it.” Bucky salvaged what was left of his dignity and headed for the street.

“Hey Barnes!” shouted Matthew. 

He turned. Matthew pulled the hammer back and shot him in the forehead.

“Bullseye!” screamed Matthew. 

“Goddamnit, you stupid motherfuck—OW!” replied Bucky. 

“Toughen up, Marcus took five ‘a these to the neck.” Matthew inspected the little mark it left. “Go apologize or ask for an apology. This place don’t feel right if you two’re mad at eachother.”

“You could’ve just said that, asshole.”

“Get over it, pussy.” Matthew clapped him on the back and wandered out of the alley. Bucky massaged the indent on his forehead. It bled but only a little. 

His feet took him back home when the sun finally set. His parents were asleep. So was everyone else. He woke up before them, took food, and hurried back out. Home stopped feeling like home the minute they told him to get out. He didn’t want to be there but he didn’t want to be where they were sending him. He wondered if living with Matthew might not be so bad. The indent from the BB told him otherwise. His parents wouldn’t go for letting him live with Marnie or Lara. It had to be Steve. But it couldn’t be. 

He ate the buttered slices of bread he stole as breakfast on a park bench. A few families passed, one handed him a couple dimes. Bucky pocketed them and kept walking. He bought a coke with his new wealth and went block by block. And block by block he realized there wasn’t anyone he wanted to see. He turned back and curled up on the park bench he abandoned. He put his feet up and stared at the clouds. 

What did it all mean. In the end. He could lie to Steve but he knew the truth. He wanted him. In that moment, at very least. Did that mean all everyone thought it meant, or was it just inevitable for any two people as close as the two of them? Probably the former. The disgust in Steve’s voice, and face, and eyes. It was a big deal, a big terrible deal. So what could he do. 

Pray. 

Bucky closed his eyes, his hands folded in prayer behind his head, and prayed for God to take it away. Take it back. He didn’t want it, he never did. Curse him with anything but this perversion. He could lose everything but not Steve. He clenched his jaw and breathed a little deeper as frustration welled his eyes.

“Hey fathead.”

Bucky opened his eyes and blinked into the brightness. Steve stood above him, hands in his pockets, looking put out.

“What?” spat Bucky.

“You live here now?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I guess they told you you’re hittin’ the bricks huh?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not living with you.”

“Oh yeah, where’re you gonna go? Gonna get an apartment on your salary for you summer job? Huh? What happens when school’s in? We live in shit and you can’t even afford that. You’re homeless, jackass! Come live in my home!”

“I don’t need your pity!” Bucky sat up. He knew he looked liked hell and tried to hide it. Nothing could hide the gash in his cheek. “I don’t need you!”

“Stay mad at me all you fuckin’ want but come sleep on our couch for fuck’s sake!”

“That wasn’t some little disagreement we had!” spat Bucky. “Time’s not fixing this, I’ve got every right to hate you.”

“I’ve got plenty right to hate you too,” said Steve defensively.

“You misunderstood something and instead of talking it out like an adult you called me a faggot. Fuck you, Steve.” They stared at each other, wanting the other to break first. Eventually Steve gave in and sighed deeper than his lungs could afford. 

“Okay…I owe you an apology,” groaned Steve. He sat in the open spot next to Bucky. “I shouldn’t’ve reacted like that. You accept everything about me no matter what it is and I…I’m really fuckin’ embarrassed about what I did. I’m ashamed, I am.”

“Steve—I’m not any kind of way.”

“Well—yeah but for argument’s sake. I thought you were gonna kiss me then. That’s what I thought—“

“Wrongly,” interjected Bucky.

“Yeah…Look. I like to think this friendship goes both ways and I didn’t do my part to listen or to understand. I got no problem with…ya know those guys. And if you are one—“

“I’m not—“

“But I wouldn’t have a problem! I just…if you were that way for me…it’d change a lot. And I was mad at you for doing that to us. But if the tables were turned you wouldn’t have done anything close to that. And I’m sorry. I’m real fuckin’ sorry.” 

Steve looked to him. It was his turn now to accept the apology. He didn’t want to. It felt like admitting something. No matter how much Steve insisted it was hypothetical, it didn’t feel like like he believed it. And even if it was true, which he still wasn’t sure it was, this wasn’t how he wanted it to be confirmed.

“You misunderstood. That’s all that happened.”

“I know,” laughed Steve. “I’m just saying hypothetically.” 

Steve cocked his head, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s forehead. He ran his thumb over the little cut left by the BB. Every part of Bucky focused on the inch of skin where Steve’s thumb was. He knew he was blushing and hoped the bruises would cover it. 

“This wasn’t here before right?” said Steve.

“No,” said Bucky. He swatted Steve’s hand away. “Matthew shot me with his BB gun, told me to make amends.”

“No kidding!” He pulled his collar to the side to give Bucky a better view of his neck. A similar cut rested just in front of his collarbone. “He told me if we didn’t make up by the weekend he was gonna get me fired from the pharmacy.”

“That jackass just wants to fish in peace,” groaned Bucky. 

 

 

 

Bucky packed up with Tommy. He avoided his parents up until then. He didn’t know where they were and he liked it like that. Everything he really cared about was already at Steve’s for safekeeping so it was mostly a matter of clothes. He stuffed what he wore most into a box. He and Tommy walked them down. Steve was waiting out front with the dolly to wheel it all over to his. 

Tommy promised he and Rebecca would soften his parents up while he was gone. Bucky wouldn’t hold his breath on that one. 

“I cleared half my closet, and two drawers from the dresser. My clothes take up less space so if you really can’t squeeze it all into there, I can probably make a little more room,” said Steve. 

“Thanks.” No amount of thanks made them even. Not for this. Being this far in debt to Steve felt like shit. 

“If you’re gonna thank me for everything I do for you, you’ll never say anything else. Don’t worry about it okay? You’d do it for me,” said Steve. 

He was right. He’d do anything for Steve. But he didn’t need to because Steve never let himself be a burden. 

“Is the sofa soft enough to sleep on?” asked Bucky.

“You can just share my bed. I don’t think I’m gonna grow another foot in the next…however long you’re staying. We’ll fit.”

“Oh…I don’t think we should,” said Bucky. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t kick,” said Steve with a laugh, but he sounded hurt.

“We’re kinda old to be sharing a bed is all,” said Bucky with the same pained laughter. 

In the end Sarah set him up on a cot. He slept under the back bay window in the living room. That meant he could see into the backyard and, across the room, out the front window onto the street. In Steve’s room when he looked out the window he saw stars and wrought iron from the fire escape. One measly floor below and all he could see was pitch black mystery in the backyard and creepy, dancing light in a sea of greys and blacks out the front window. 

His first night was spent tossing and turning, debating on which window he should show his back. Neither felt safe, so he slept on his back until Sarah woke him up and told him to stop snoring. Bucky turned on his side and laid wide awake, fully expecting some demon to reach through the window.

 

 

 

Rebecca said yes when Steve asked her down to Coney Island. Bucky was almost entirely sure she would’ve said no and laughed when Steve told him. Steve mentioned that if they got married, he and Bucky’d be together forever. He knew he should’ve been happy about it. Consciously he knew that. But he couldn’t ignore the jealousy. If Steve were going to marry into the Barnes family, something in Bucky needed it to be him. 

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, barely even himself. But he felt it. Any time Steve mentioned her name, every muscle in his body wanted to go into the kitchen and start throwing the good china. So he retaliated the best way he knew how. He asked Marnie out. Bucky detailed how Marnie confessed she’d always hoped he’d ask her and watched Steve stew. He couldn’t even be mad. If Steve started making a fuss over Bucky dating his ex, Bucky quickly reminded him he was with his sister.

But it didn’t feel good. At least Steve was happy with Rebecca. Bucky was using and hurting a good friend for what? To get Steve’s attention? 

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Bucky used to find a comfort in the quiet darkness of a confessional. But in that moment it felt suffocating. “It’s been…three days since my last confession.”

“Back so soon?” said the Father. 

“I’ve got something. I don’t know if it’s a sin yet,” said Bucky. His mouth dried up and his throat swelled. “I’m having immoral thoughts, or feelings really, about a boy.”

“I see.”

“I don’t mean to have them. But I do.” 

“Would you act on these feelings?”

Bucky paused. He knew the answer. But he didn’t want God to know the answer. “I.. don’t know…Probably.”

“That is the sin. Sinful thoughts are the devils work that you much fight back against. That is a burden our Lord gives you. But you become a sinner when you give in to the darkness and act upon these impure thoughts.”

Bucky knew he’d say that going in. What was the point in coming if he knew what he’d be told before he ever knelt.

“What shall I do?” asked Bucky.

“Your penance. God will not abandon you if you do not abandon him. Call upon Him in your sick moments.”

Bucky meandered out and began his assigned Ave’s and Our Father’s. As he stared up at the jeweled crucifix shining in the dim light, sitting securely upon the Lord’s table, he wondered if God was keeping count. If these prayers were really the answer. In his whole life, when he repented he felt unchanged. Were the prayers actually doing anything or was the punishment the time it took to recite them?

He finished the decade before wandering back to Steve’s.

 

 

 

Bucky hated the ferris wheel. These days anyway. When he and Steve were kids and his father would squeeze them into a car, he liked it then. Age took the innocence from it. Marnie sat next to him, her hands roaming his body faster than he could swat them away. 

“C’mon, Buck,” whispered Marnie. 

Bucky said nothing, his eyes trained on the car above them that held Steve and Rebecca. 

“I know it’s weird to be out with your sister here but at least try to distract yourself,” pleaded Marnie. 

“Stop fuckin’ touching me, not tonight,” snapped Bucky. He was meaner these days, meaner than he’d ever been. Weeks before, he let her have what she wanted from his body and she kept asking for more. The tips of her fingers were acid on his skin and he yelled at her when she dare touch her boyfriend. 

He knew why he hated her. Why he was filled with disgust when she sat too close to him or looked at him too long. He told the priest but the prayers didn’t make him hate her less. Didn’t make him want Steve less. If anything it made him hyperaware of all he wanted, and didn’t want. 

“Why did you ask me to be with you if you can’t stand me?” asked Marnie. She didn’t sound upset, she sounded defeated. 

“I don’t know,” answered Bucky. 

They faced opposite directions and, when the ride ended, she told Steve and Rebecca she was leaving. She wouldn’t give an explanation but Rebecca went with her anyway, assuming rightly that she needed comfort and an escort home. Steve watched her go. 

“What the hell did you do?” asked Steve. 

“I don’t know…I don’t like her,” muttered Bucky. “She just gets under my skin.”

“She’s never gotten under your skin before,” said Steve. Bucky shrugged, Steve rolled his eyes. “You piss me off. Pretty girls fall over themselves to get to you and you’re never happy.”

“Maybe girls falling over themselves isn’t what I need to be happy.”

They walked home in silence. A weight was lifted off of Bucky’s chest with Marnie gone, and another added as his excuses for Steve got thinner and thinner and thinner. 

Steve unlocked the door. Bucky hadn’t mastered unlocking it in enough silence to avoid waking Sarah before her shift. Bucky meandered up behind Steve to change clothes. Changing in the living room didn’t feel right and sleeping in Steve’s bed didn’t feel right so this was the compromise. 

“We should clean you cheek, we can’t afford an infection,” whispered Steve. 

“It’s fine,” replied Bucky. Steve waved away his words. Bucky tugged his shirt off carefully. His cheek wasn’t the disgusting open-wound it had been but the bruising was set in heavy. It made chewing a real task. He was always careful not to graze it when pulling his shirts on or off. 

Steve reappeared in the doorway with a rag and a bottle of antiseptic. He avoided the creaky floorboards on his way to the bed. It creaked when he sat down. 

“Look at me,” whispered Steve. Bucky moved to face him. Steve’s cold hand turned his chin slightly to the side for a clearer view of his cheek. “Looks a lot better.”

“Don’t lie, it looks like hell.”

“But it looked worse than hell before,” said Steve with a smirk. 

“C’mon get it over with,” said Bucky. It hurt the first time. The first time, Steve shoved his head in the sink and poured the antiseptic over his cheek, careful to avoid his eyes. It felt like his skin was melting off. It hurt less and less as time passed, but it still always hurt. 

“Don’t be a baby,” muttered Steve. 

“I’ll cut your cheek open and see how you like it,” spat Bucky. Steve poured the antiseptic onto the rag. Bucky bounced his leg to shake the nerves out. 

Steve paused and took Bucky’s right hand, and squeezed, and pressed the rag to his split cheek. “Don’t scream.”

It hurt but Bucky couldn’t scream if he wanted to. His eyes never left Steve’s and Steve’s never left his. And he didn’t know why. He couldn’t even feel his cheek. Steve’s thumb ran over the back of his hand, Bucky squeezed his fingers loosely. 

There in the silent dark, they couldn’t say a word. Bucky couldn’t know what Steve meant by it all, he could guess and he could hope but he couldn’t know, he couldn’t ask. A moment that felt like decades was over in seconds. Quickfire motions of their hands, quick glances of their eyes, but it felt like the world somehow. 

Matthew was right. It was part of the damn curse. Always making a bigger deal out of stupid shit. Stupid, meaningless shit like Steve’s thumb, or his eyes, or the look on his face. Stupid shit that meant nothing other than the friendship he was betraying. 

“Come,” whispered Steve. He slipped his hand out of Bucky’s and crawled out to the fire escape. Bucky followed behind and brought him his sketchbook.

Without another word, Bucky laid back and pointed at random stars, naming fake constellations. He tried hard this time to make it impossible for Steve. But it was never impossible for Steve, he always saw the stars just how Bucky described them. Better even. 

“Buck?” said Steve. He smudged the marks he left. He did that often now, everything had to be shaded properly or he’d tear it up. 

“Yeah?” replied Bucky straight upwards to the stars.

“I think I know why you’re not getting along with Marnie,” began Steve. 

“Oh?” Bucky propped himself up on an elbow. His heart sped then stopped dead, waiting for Steve to complete the thought. 

“It’s because you don’t love her. You were just using her to eat at me,” sighed Steve. Bucky held his breath. “You’re not comfortable with me dating Rebecca are you.”

It wasn’t exactly relief that flooded Bucky, it was more like numbness. Steve didn’t know yet. But so much of Bucky wanted to tell him, to get it out by any means necessary. But the rest of him didn’t know how to say it. Having Steve guess it one day was the perfect scenario in Bucky’s mind. But when had he ever been so lucky?

“I can split with her, Buck. I can.” He never looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes. “You’re more important to me than she’d ever be.”

Bucky cocked his head. “You’d split with her for me?”

“If it means keepin’ you around.”

“That’s some queer shit,” teased Bucky. Steve didn’t even crack a smile. Bucky groaned and sat up. “You have so many damn emotions. You feel everything so deep that I can never really know what you mean. So many feelings in such a small frame.”

Steve finally turned to look at him. “You can’t tell what I feel?”

“Sometimes I see right through you, sometimes I may as well be blind,” said Bucky with a shrug. 

“I’m the same with you,” mumbled Steve. “Like when I wanna know what you’re thinking the most, you’re a stranger.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. They eyed eachother for a few silent moments. Bucky knew why Steve couldn’t read him sometimes. Because he spent every waking moment of his life making that one aspect of himself unreadable. He wasn’t going to tell Steve that. And he didn’t expect Steve to tell him what he kept so hidden either. But something, something in the silence, made them understand each other. 

“Really Buck, I’ll leave her for you,” said Steve in a hushed voice. 

Bucky whispered back, “you don’t have to.”

 

 

 

Any chance he had he stole away to the church to confess or to pray, usually both. It always felt fruitless and pointless but it did feel better than doing nothing. He’d go after work, before work, before class, after class, before dinner, in the dead of night when he was sure no one would hear. 

There was another woman who did the same. Bucky saw her often and in the months that passed, he watched her get bigger and bigger and bigger. He wondered if she was like Sarah, praying her baby would live. Or if she was like most girls in their neighborhood, praying forgiveness for an accident. He wouldn’t ask her, he wouldn’t look her in the eye, and vice versa. The few people who spent their spare time begging God for something were never in a chatty mood. 

And that’s where he was. Rosary in hand, prayers in mind, begging God to take it from him. He grew cold around Steve when he felt it come on too strong, he found excuses to be apart from him. And he hated it. And he wanted the damn curse lifted so he could have his friend back. 

“Bucky,” said a thick Irish accent.

“Mrs. Rogers,” whispered Bucky in return. He went from sagging helplessly against the pew after a completed decade to sitting up pin straight and clearing a spot for Sarah who sat by his side.

“Is this where you’ve been coming all this time?” said Sarah. Her voice was still it’s usual sing-song though her face read more serious, more solemn. 

“I just…wanted more time to…” began Bucky, not entirely sure where he we was going with it, “reflect.”

“Bucky, talk to me,” said Sarah. Her voice was calm and even.

“There’s nothing to tell, honest,” said Bucky through gritted teeth. Sarah wasn’t fooled easily by anyone. Bucky couldn’t tell if she suspected the truth or had her own theory of why Bucky’d been so strange. But she knew about the lipstick, and she knew about their kiss in the fifth grade. And Bucky was sure that was enough for her to guess why his father split his cheek and why he found it hard to look at Steve these days.

“If there were nothing to tell you wouldn’t be stealing away to church every spare chance you got,” said Sarah. He wouldn’t say it. If she wouldn’t say it and be upfront about what she thought Bucky damn sure wasn’t going to fill in the blanks.

She sighed deep and a bit wheezy. “God made me very sick. I never thought I’d make it this far. In fact, I’m amazed I survived having Steve.”

Bucky stared at her profile while she stared up at the jeweled crucifix that headed the sanctuary. 

“He gives everyone their own plight. Everyone has a cross to bear and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She turned to look at him briefly. Bucky wondered if, in that brief moment, she caught a glimpse of his misty eyes. “our cross is the world telling you you’re wrong. And no matter how much you hear that from the world, from the church, from whoever, you have to know, you’re not wrong. It’s part of who you are and nothing about you is something to be fixed or embarrassed of. I know you’ve got feelings for Steve—”

“I don’t—” interrupted Bucky out of habit.

“And that’s okay,” continued Sarah, not at all acknowledging Bucky’s denial. “Any form of love is a blessing.”

Bucky’d spoken about this openly two times with a veiled voice on the other side of the confessional partition. Even then he could only bring himself to do it twice. And yet, there, with Sarah at his side, he felt like he’d burst if he didn’t talk. 

“Mrs. Rogers, this could ruin our friendship. I have to cure it before it gets worse,” said Bucky.

“Bucky, deary, you can’t fall out of love with someone no matter how hard you try. A part of you is with them forever whether you like it or not. You’re always gonna care about him this much but it doesn’t have to be so bad, Bucky, one day you might be just friends again,” said Sarah.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but nothin’s working,” said Bucky pathetically. He never thought he’d find himself here. Begging Steve’s mother to help him cure his love. 

“Keep praying, Bucky. God might let you off the hook here but love doesn’t have to destroy your friendship,” she put a comforting hand on his back, “just let it take it’s course. In the meantime, stop ignoring Steve. That’s not helping anyone.”

“I’m not queer,” said Bucky with no real conviction.

“Okay,” replied Sarah. “Now let’s go home, I’ve got to start dinner.”

 

 

 

The checks really stopped then. Bucky wasn’t surprised but with the holidays on the horizon he’d hoped for a little mercy. Of course, mercy wasn’t in his mother’s vocabulary when it came to him. He’d accrued enough money to pay pseudo-rent after his summer at the docks. Sure, it wouldn’t last very long but it was something. Sarah knew Bucky had nowhere else left to go, and was too kind to kick him out. So she wouldn’t complain about what a financial burden he’d become, but Bucky could sense it. It kept him up.

Steve had fallen asleep trying to sketch ‘Orion’s first car’, one of Bucky’s favorite fake constellations. Bucky finished his cigarette and threw it off the escape before climbing back into Steve’s room as quietly as he could. He got Steve’s sketch book and pencils on the dresser and tucked him in before flicking the light off and padding downstairs. He was about to turn and head for his cot in the living room when he heard sniffles from the kitchen.

He peered out from the dark of the entry way into the dim light of the kitchen where Sarah sat. Four different piles of money lay in front of her, each resting on a different sheet of paper. She laid two quarters in front of herself and shook her head, clearly fighting off tears. 

“Mom?” said Bucky. He still surprised himself when he called her mom. She had stopped flinching when he did. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Sarah. She wiped her face, trying to look casual despite it being plainly obvious. She pretended to read one of the bills laid out in front of her but her misty eyes made it clear she couldn’t make out any words. Bucky sat in the chair next to her and recounted the money she’d allotted to each bill and reaffirmed that they did only have fifty cents left over.

“Is it like this every week?” asked Bucky. He’d never felt so guilty for asking for seconds more in his life than he did in that moment. Sarah had been stretching fifty cents to pay for food and he’d wanted more. No growth spurt excused that. 

“No — No, it’s not even like this now. This is just the bill money. Grocery and spending money are locked up,” said Sarah. Bucky looked at her. Did she really expect him to buy that. 

“I wanna help out more,” said Bucky. “My mom’s not paying my way anymore and you can’t afford two kids right now. If you would just take my whole paycheck—” 

“Bucky, that’s your money. I’m not taking it from you because it’s getting a little…tighter around here.” 

“I don’t need the money I have, I’ve got almost a two hundred dollars saved up now and I don’t need it as bad as we need it. If you would just let me give it to you —“

“You save that money, Bucky, and you go to college on it,” said Sarah strictly as she began packing away the bills and money. 

“You know what,” said Bucky, not addressing Sarah directly. Instead he spoke to a plate mounted on the wall infront of them. The plate was much less intimidating. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“What?” said Sarah. Bucky thought he heard her actually laugh at that.

“You can’t tell me what to spend my money on so I think I’m spending it on this week’s groceries,” said Bucky.

“No—No, Bucky. I’ll go first thing for groceries, you won’t be able to beat me there—” 

“Then I guess we’ll have double the food,” snapped Bucky, a grin creeping onto his face. She didn’t want his charity but if she didn’t take it he’d throw it at her. 

“Okay…But I’ll do the shopping. I can’t have you running loose in a grocery store, you’ll buy the whole thing up,” laughed Sarah. Bucky kissed her and ran to find his hidden stash of money. She counted out the extra two hundred and thanked him up and down. Bucky had never won something this big, he’d never helped anyone this much. Sarah kissed him again before sending him to bed. 

 

 

 

Marnie tagged along to Coney Island as a friend after Bucky snapped at her. They got along better, more naturally, when they weren’t trying to be a couple. Marnie won him a pinwheel in a game, Bucky bought them a pretzel to share. It was easier to distract himself from Steve and Rebecca when he didn’t also have to focus on keeping Marnie away from him. 

The park started clearing, little by little. Bucky liked it best when it was empty. Marnie and Rebecca, a few beers deep, wanted to ride the Cyclone. Steve looked green at the mere mention of the name so Bucky agreed to stay behind and save their spot under the boardwalk. 

Bucky sat in the sand and watched Steve try and skip rocks overtop the choppy ocean waves. The sun hadn’t quite set. The warmth was still in the air but there was a sense of privacy with the fading light. Like they were the only two on the beach for miles and miles and boroughs and cities and states and countries. Just them two, sitting on the beach. 

Steve huffed back to Bucky, panting with his hands on his hips. “It’s fuckin’ hard to skip rocks in the ocean.”

“No shit,” replied Bucky. 

“You’re sure you don’t wanna ride the Cyclone before we go?”

“God you sound like your dad.”

“I sound nothing like him,” said Steve. He fell into the sand next to Bucky. 

“The accent was endearing on him, but your own Brooklyn accent is endearing on you. More endearing than an Irish accent would’ve been,” said Bucky. 

“Why? Because Irish accents are ugly?” spat Steve. 

“If you wanna fight, we’ll fight. But you know what I meant. You’re your own person. Not inheriting an accent doesn’t mean you didn’t inherit all of his other traits,” said Bucky. 

“You think I’m anything like him? …I mean really. Not just to make me happy.”

“Of course. Your dad was a tall you. You’ve got a much shorter fuse and much less foresight. But you make people feel at home. That’s him all over.”

Steve smiled but said nothing more. 

“Dad said, if you squint into the horizon, you can see Ireland.”

“I bet he did say that,” laughed Bucky. 

“Yeah…Dad said a lot of stuff,” said Steve. “Sometimes wonder if he knew me, really knew me, before he went.”

“Do I really know you?”

“Yes.”

“Then so did he.” Bucky pressed his shoulder to Steve’s. “Even if he didn’t know everything, he does now.”

“Buck, I gotta say something.”

Bucky froze. Every inch of his skin pricked cold. “Okay…”

“But not here, let’s walk.”

Steve stood and held a hand to help Bucky up. His hand was wet with sweat, and so was Bucky’s. Both nervous and they couldn’t know why the other was nervous. Bucky’s stomach as in knots. Steve must’ve known, he must’ve known and he must’ve been upset otherwise it wouldn’t be such an occasion.

Steve wiped his palms on his pants and gestured in the direction of the pier. Away from the few people left on the beach and toward the relative solitude of the pier. Bucky walked slow so Steve could keep up at his new, nervous pace. The first few steps were in complete silence. 

“I can’t take the suspense, Steve. Say it.”

“Swear on my life you’ll get mad after I get it all out.”

“I swear,” said Bucky. He crossed his heart. 

Steve took a deep breath and leant back against the moldy wooden pillar of the pier. “Remember the night we fought?”

Bucky’s muscles tightened. “Why’re you bringing that up now? I thought we moved on.”

“We—Look…I…” Steve groaned, almost gagged. He lost any color he may have once had and broke into a cold sweat. Whatever he had to say, it was about to force it’s way out of his body. “I misunderstood what happened. I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I remember,” spat Bucky. “You misunderstood and acted like a jackass—“

“I misunderstood. Me,” said Steve. “I saw what I wanted to see. Everything. I was so mad at myself for what I wanted that I just put it all on you. I said you wanted to kiss me, and you were ruining the friendship with your feelings. But it was all me, me and my feelings and my wants. I put it on you because it was easier but it wasn’t easier on you. And I’m sorry. 

And all that talk, about how I should’ve been kinder to you. Deep down I was just saying it so in this moment, right now, while I come clean, you wouldn’t punch me. But Bucky you deserve it. You deserve to fuckin’ deck me! I ruined it! I felt what I shouldn’t have and I made you believe it was all you! I’m a horrible, shitty friend and a liar and a manipulator and a fuckin’ pervert! So hit me for it!”

Bucky stared at Steve, frozen in the moment. Let it sink in while Steve squirmed. Numbness was the overwhelming sensation. Not happiness, or relief. Maybe a little bit of anger, or frustration. He was angry for all the reasons Steve predicted. Steve ruined their friendship with this. There was no backing out of something like that, no deniability anymore and now they had to talk about it. Sharing looks and touches and lonely nights with each other were over and now it was spread on the table. 

Who gave him the right? Bucky wasn’t sure of anything, much less himself. Who gave Steve the right to force his hand, to drag out a reaction from him right here right now?

“Please…hit me,” mumbled Steve. He sounded desperate. 

Words weren’t coming to him. He knew his face was completely unreadable too. But he had to communicate, someway somehow. So he reached out, and he balled up his fist, and pressed it against Steve’s chest. He held it there for a moment or two, and let it fall back to his side. 

Disbelief spread on both of their faces. For different reasons, but nevertheless they stayed quiet, and contemplative. Wondering what the other was really thinking. It was another moment of opacity where no matter how hard he stared, he’d never know what Steve was thinking.

“Bucky? …Steve?” said Rebecca. Bucky snapped out of his trance and took a half step away from Steve. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Steve. He walked towards her with a laugh, he took her hand. “Come on, I wanna chase the tide.”

Steve didn’t look back as he walked off on Rebecca’s arm. 

Bucky sat in the sand and watched as everyone else danced barefoot in the shallow tide. He said didn’t like the cold water, that was his excuse and he didn’t care if anyone bought it. He drew circles in the sand and replayed what Steve said over and over in his head. Steve felt for him, everything he blamed Bucky for was all him. 

Steve wished Bucky’d kiss him. And he was upset enough when he didn’t that he nearly ended their friendship. Steve was nothing if not extreme. Bucky took the time alone and wondered what God was thinking. He did that more often these days. Why make them so close, so connected, and then let them fall over that perilous edge. He did his damn decades, he did Ave’s in his sleep now and none of it mattered. As soon as Steve spoke, admitted the truth, none of those hours of prayer mattered anymore. He wondered if that meant he wasn’t trying hard enough or if, maybe, God didn’t care. Maybe love wasn’t their greatest sin. 

That was arrogance. Every sinner excuses themselves of their sin. It’s all defensible to the individual but there was no arguing with Him. God knew how much pain he was in, how pure his feelings were, and He probably didn’t care. He was probably expecting Bucky to go to confession twice a day.

Bucky looked up from his circles in the sand and watched Steve splash in the water. He’d go to confession twenty three hours a day if it meant he could spend the twenty fourth doing nothing at all with Steve. So why go at all?

Steve fell back into the water. Bucky stood and broke into a quick run to help him up. Marnie had him on his feet before Bucky reached the water. Steve planted his hands on his knees and assured everyone, between coughs and sputters of water, that he was fine. 

“Alright, let’s head home before he starts eating sand,” said Rebecca. Steve laughed between the coughs. 

Steve draped an arm over Bucky’s shoulder as a crutch on their walk out. Bucky didn’t know, couldn’t know, if Steve really needed the help but he didn’t care. He recovered by the time they got to their train station. Once he was no longer coughing they had free reign to tease him for tripping over absolutely nothing and falling like a cartoon. 

The teasing stopped when the coughing came back. If he coughed too much it sometimes triggered an asthma attack. Bucky remembered that from childhood and practically carried Steve off the train. Steve couldn’t talk but he tried to signal to the girls that he was absolutely fine. 

“Should we go to the hospital?” offered Rebecca. 

Steve shook his head and Bucky said no. “He needs rest, that’s all,” said Bucky. She was concerned about him. Real concern, real love in her eyes. 

They walked their usual way home and said goodbye to Marnie and Rebecca when their paths diverged. Steve wasn’t consistently coughing anymore but he wasn’t talking. He needed that precious air for breathing exclusively. Bucky dragged him into the house and up the stairs where the coughing started again. 

“Lie down,” whispered Bucky. Steve sat on his bed, Bucky pulled his boots off and ordered him to lay on his side and breathe. Deep and slow. He coached him through it to keep him calm. Asthma attacks scared Steve just as much as they scared Bucky. He’d only ever had a few and each one turned him purple and looks like it’d kill him. Bucky had to stop him from panicking and making it worse. “Deeper than that, Steve.”

“I can’t,” coughed Steve. 

“Don’t talk,” replied Bucky. “And you can breathe deeper. Those lungs’re perfectly fine, use ‘em.”

Steve coughed through more deep breaths. Selfishly Bucky wished he’d just catch his breath. He wanted to talk to him, touch him. Tell him every instance of every emotion he’d kept at bay for God knew how long. He wanted it to finally spill over and out of the dam he put up. But first Steve had to be able to breathe. 

“You’re okay,” whispered Bucky. He carefully, slowly ran a hand through his hair. Steve wheezed, but their eyes never left each other’s. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Bucky couldn’t tell if he was talking to Steve or himself anymore. But this time both of them were listening. And both of them believed it. Steve started blinking slower and slower as Bucky played with his hair. Eventually he fell asleep.

 

 

 

Tomorrow they’d figure it all out. Bucky’d say everything he wanted to and worry about what it all meant later, worry about the consequences later. He fell asleep with that thought. And woke to piercing bark of Steve’s coughing. 

It was the kind of cough Steve had only when he was sick. Very sick. Bucky sat bolt upright and he held his breath, hoping it was a fluke. But it wasn’t. Steve launched into another coughing fit full of those barking, wheezing noises. 

Bucky hurried to the stairs. If he was quick enough he could take care of Steve before Sarah ever woke. No such luck. She was up the stairs before he reached the banister. Bucky lamely followed behind her, knowing he could do nothing to help the situation if Sarah was already there. 

“Deep breaths, love,” said Sarah. She sat Steve up and put his head between his knees. He coughed and spat and struggled for what meager gulps of air he could get. Sarah, her hand firmly on Steve’s shivering back, looked up at Bucky and just shook her head. 

“Bucky, could ye ran down my bedroom and get me the thermometer?” said Sarah. Bucky nodded and stumbled over his feet trying to get out. He nearly shattered the thermometer but he returned triumphantly. The mercury spiking already from being wrapped in Bucky’s sweaty hand. 

Sarah held the thermometer under Steve’s tongue and she kept it there no matter how hard Steve’s coughing tried to force it out.

“Oh, Steve,” said Sarah with a small laugh, “oh it’s barely a fever, you’re at 99.”

Steve’s lungs gave him a break. He wiped his mouth and nodded. He was too disoriented to grasp how good of news his low fever was. Sarah kissed his forehead. 

“I’ll fix you cough syrup,” said Sarah. She brushed the sweaty strands of hair from Steve’s face and smiled in relief. “Hopefully it’ll make you sleep.” 

She handed Bucky the thermometer on her way out. Bucky stayed pressed against the far wall, unsure what to do. Steve’d been sick before. He had stomach bugs, he had sprains and cuts, he had the flu every year. Bucky could handle those. But he couldn’t handle his weak lungs. He got skittish when Steve’s allergies got bad. Hearing his coughing, hearing how desperate for air he was, and knowing all the while he could do nothing to help, was Hell.

Then Steve looked up at him, briefly and sadly. Bucky snapped out of it and sat where Sarah had at Steve’s side.

“How do you feel?” whispered Bucky. The whole house was awake now but talking above a whisper felt rude still. 

Steve shook his head in response. He stifled a cough, his whole body shook while he did. Bucky wasn’t sure if touching him would help or hurt. He put a tentative hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re okay.”

“You can,” Steve paused to avoid another coughing fit, “you can go back down.”

“What?” 

Bucky waited for Steve to tame his cough before getting his response. “I know this stuff makes you squirrelly. Go to bed.”

“Focus on breathing, Steve. We’ll worry about my phobia’s when you’re better,” whispered Bucky.

Sarah returned with a spoonful of cough syrup. She was a nurse, and nurses needed a certain toughness in conjunction with a nurturing demeanor. She decided tonight she needed to use the former. Steve’s coughs had him spit out the first two spoonfuls onto Sarah and the floor. He croaked out apologies and tears between each one. Sarah responded to neither. She held Steve’s shoulders, shoved the spoonful of medicine back in his mouth, and held his mouth closed. The coughing began, so she held his nose until he finally swallowed. 

Bucky sat frozen by Steve. He fought tears and fought the coughing and the gagging. Sarah kissed his forehead again as a form of apology. Steve didn’t want one, he was glad to have the medicine in his system. 

“That should put you out,” said Sarah. “We’ll get soup in you when you wake up.”

Steve nodded and drank the water she brought for him. Her thumb ran circles over his cheek until he smiled at her. She kissed him goodnight one more time before meandering down the steps. 

Steve laid back down and looked up at Bucky sitting at the end of his bed. He grinned a stupid grin and fought more coughing fits at the same time. “You look petrified.”

“Makes me nervous to see you…like this,” said Bucky. He nodded and stifled a few lingering coughs. “I’ll stay ’til you’re sleeping.”

He coughed too much to respond outside of a nod and a quick grin. The medicine worked fast, he fell asleep in minutes and left Bucky there to nervously stare at him. He watched his breathing like a hawk, like at any second his lungs would collapse. 

Somewhere between worrying and wondering, he fell asleep. 

 

 

 

He woke early the next morning. Steve’s calf had served as his pillow all night. He sat up, every muscle ached and every joint cracked when he moved. He didn’t remember falling asleep but having a clear view of Steve’s chest slowly rising and falling made the rough night worth it. Sarah organized his sidetable with the breakfast she made him. 

“Didn’t get back down last night?”

“No…I was staying until he fell asleep but…I fell asleep too,” said Bucky.

She turned to him with no humor in her eyes and a bottle of cough medicine in her hand. “I have to go to work.”

“Okay,” Bucky didn’t follow.

“Can you make sure he’s okay?” 

“Oh, of course. I’ve been doing this since we were kids,” said Bucky. He wasn’t awake enough yet to feel offended that she even felt she had to ask. 

“If his fever gets higher than 101, give him some aspirin, he knows his own dosage. Until then try to break it before it gets to that point. Cough syrup every six hours as needed. One spoonful. As much water as he can get but slowly or it won’t stay down,” said Sarah.

“Roger,” replied Bucky. She kissed his forehead and hurried out the door and down the stairs. If the sun was up, she was already late. Bucky turned his sleepy eyes on Steve, still dead asleep. He was tired but he knew he’d never be able to get back to sleep knowing he was in charge. 

The breakfast next to Steve was oatmeal. Sarah made excellent oatmeal but the oatmeal she made for the sick may as well have been gruel. It had no flavor and no spicing. That was ideal for a patient but Bucky always hated getting it down when he was under her care. 

Until Steve woke, his only job was to make sure his chest rose and fell consistently. He coughed intermittently but mostly he breathed easy. Which made Bucky breathe easy too. 

The sun rose finally. Bucky, who still lay at the foot of the bed, walked a thin line between sleep and consciousness until the sun started shining shadows on the far wall. He drifted in an out of sleep for a few more hours until Steve coughed them both awake. Bucky sat upright in an instant and handed Steve the water off his bedside table. 

“How do you feel?”

Steve shook his head and handed Bucky the glass of water. “Like shit.”

“Here,” Bucky handed him the thermometer. “Maybe it was a 24-hour thing.”

“You just jinxed it,” said Steve with a grin. He slipped the thermometer under his tongue, Bucky timed him in complete silence. 99.8, or maybe it was 100. Either way it climbed which wasn’t good. “Can’t be good if you’re so quiet.”

“It’s fine, you’re practically the same,” said Bucky. “So I guess we’re having an indoor day today.”

“What do you wanna do?” 

“First eat your oatmeal.”

Steve sighed and reached for the bowl. He hated the flavorless version of oatmeal too but his stomach was too fragile when he got sick to take the good stuff. His whole face contorted when he finally swallowed his first bite. 

“That bad?” laughed Bucky. Steve nodded. “Hopefully you’ll be back on your feet when school starts up. You can’t start our last year like this.”

“Stop jinxing it,” croaked Steve with a grin. He ate another horrible mouthful of the oatmeal. 

 

 

 

When his fever reached 101, Sarah gave him aspirin. Her friends left at the hospital offered free checkups. They came by, took his temperature and vitals. All the same things Sarah and Bucky had been monitoring. They knew what he had but they didn’t want to say it unless they had to. 

“Looks like pneumonia,” said Sarah’s head nurse from years ago.

“You’re sure?” Sarah rarely sounded defeated. 

“I’m sure. I’ll call in for some penicillin and see how he fares.”

Bucky and Sarah sat at the dinner table and stared into space after the nurse saw herself out. Steve was too feverish to hold a conversation anymore. He fell asleep mid-sentence and forgot what everyone had said. He wouldn’t have remembered he had pneumonia if they’d told him. So it was them two dealing with it, alone in the kitchen.

“He’ll be fine,” said Sarah. She took a sip of her coffee. He didn’t know who she was trying to convince, but he knew he didn’t believe it. How could he? They were getting close to a week of Steve coughing so hard his throat bled. How could she be so sure he’d come out the other end unscathed? “Bucky, look at me. He’ll be fine. There’s no sense in worryin’.”

That’s what she said. But her rosary didn’t hang on the mantle next to Joseph’s anymore, no she had it in her clenched fist every day now. Just like Bucky. 

 

 

 

Steve threw up again that morning. He once mentioned he never felt nauseous but he coughed too much to keep anything down. Bucky wanted desperately to check him into a hospital. Sarah wouldn’t. And he knew why. He knew that she knew that if Steve was ever bad enough to go back to the hospital he wouldn’t leave. And if he was going to die, he was going to do it in his home. 

She wouldn’t say it and risk speaking his death into existence but Bucky knew that was why. School had begun a few days prior. Bucky sent Rebecca in with a note. He knew the clergy would understand and if they didn’t he’d just drop out. 

He’d taken to sleeping on Steve’s floor. It made him feel more secure about the little things he could do to help Steve, and he knew it made Sarah feel better knowing someone was right there. On day twelve of Steve’s illness, Bucky lay on the floor, listening to the commonplace barking of Steve’s lungs and took a deep breath in before kneeling at Steve’s bedside. 

“Angele Dei, qui custos es mei, Me tibi commissum pietate superna, Hodie, Hac nocte illumina, custodi, rege, et guberna. Amen…” whispered Bucky. His bedtime prayers wouldn’t be enough to save Steve but he had to start somewhere and habit told him that that was the prayer to give when knelt by a bed. There was no designated prayer for pleading for Steve. Bucky had never been great with freeballing it when it came to prayers, he much preferred to stick with the tried and true latin he knew He’d hear. But if going off script meant saving Steve then he’d do it. 

“Dear God, dear Lord, dear…Mary? Please, please, please, don’t take Steve. He’s got so much left to do, so much he wants to do. He wants to stay here, at least for a little longer, God. You’ve already made him so weak, don’t cut him so short…Please, God. Um…In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

Bucky stared at his folded hands and wondered if God even heard that. Did He give a shit? Did the latin matter, did the begging matter or was everything just going to happen how it happened, prayers be damned? Steve didn’t stop coughing, if anything he sounded worse as soon as he finished his prayers. 

Steve coughed, a wet cough this time. Bucky looked down at him and waited. He didn’t know what for but he was the night watch. A few more wet coughs and then he wretched. Gagged and sputtered on his back. Bucky paused for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening to him. But that choking sound, it was unmistakable. He pulled Steve onto his side, he gagged again and what little he had in his stomach covered Bucky’s legs. 

Bucky stared for a moment. His whole body shook as he considered what might’ve happened if no one had caught Steve choking. How close he’d been to no one noticing. And he thought about his finished plea for Steve’s life. 

“Mixed messages as usual,” whispered Bucky in God’s ear.

 

 

 

He didn’t get better but he didn’t get worse. Bucky and Steve could miss the first few days of school, the administration would understand. It was the first week of school, nothing too important was being taught, nothing they couldn’t easily catch up on. But if Steve took much longer to get better they’d fall too far behind. In the mean time Rebecca and Marnie taught Bucky everything they were missing in class. 

Bucky spent each afternoon and night up until then at Steve’s bedside, praying over him and making sure he didn’t choke again.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”

“Buck?” croaked Steve. Bucky looked up to see Steve. Not fever addled Steve, but lucid, clear Steve.

“Hey,” replied Bucky.

“If you’re prayin’ over me I must be in bad shape,” said Steve with a grin. “What day is it?”

“Friday…it’s noon.”

“My head hurts,” groaned Steve. 

“I bet it does…Where’ve you been?”

“Fever dreams,” muttered Steve. “It’s weird in there. Why aren’t you at school?”

“Because…I couldn’t leave you alone,” said Bucky. He knew it’d just piss Steve off to know Bucky was babying him again but he couldn’t think of an excuse in time. 

“Buck — I’m gettin’ better,” said Steve. His eyes watered as he tried and failed to suppress another barking cough. 

“I’m not leaving so get over it,” said Bucky. He continued his Ave’s in his head.

Steve’s eyes closed. He reached out to grab Bucky’s hand. His hands were sweaty and burning up but Bucky didn’t mind.

“You’re my guardian angel, y’know that?” And he fell asleep. Steve probably wouldn’t remember that either but it made Bucky wonder. Guardian angel was a bit of a lofty title but he wouldn’t be surprised if his sole purpose in life was Steve. 

 

 

 

They got back to school. Marnie’s father called it a miracle. Bucky didn’t care if it was a miracle or not, Steve was back. He’d been damn near ready to bury him and in a week or so he’d brought himself around. Unfortunately there was a bit of a trade off. Steve being on death’s door had stressed Bucky and Sarah out. Bucky bounced back but Sarah got sick with a cold. Steve had a lot of convincing to get her to finally take one damn day off. 

But she wasn’t getting better. If anything she was getting worse. Steve thought maybe he’d given her his pneumonia but Bucky made sure that didn’t happen. He made sure Sarah was never around Steve for too long, made sure he did all of Steve’s laundry, made sure he was the one to wash his fucking dishes. There was no way she had pneumonia too. At least not Steve’s pneumonia. 

Sarah did this sometimes, she had a cold that would last her weeks but it would fade. They tried not to panic over it. Bucky still prayed every night by his cot and had a feeling Steve was doing the same up in his room. Marnie and Rebecca were good distractions from that. The two of them took to dance halls recently which Steve absolutely hated. Bucky always managed to get a smile from him but his best days were when they got to head to Coney Island.

“I heard they’re thinkin’ ‘a closin’ down the Cyclone,” said Marnie. 

“They’d never close the Cyclone,” said Steve. He sounded bitter. 

“You and Steve go, I’ve had too much to eat to ride that thing,” said Bucky. 

“C’mon Steve. This time you’ll like it,” teased Marnie.

She dragged him off to join the short line for the coaster. Rebecca watched them go, her eyes trained on Steve’s back. 

“Becca, how come Ma doesn’t talk to Mrs. Rogers anymore?” asked Bucky. With Sarah so sick he’d expected a visit, a letter, a second glance at mass, but his mother was completely silent. Rebecca shrugged.

“Guess she heard the rumors ‘bout you…I heard her say Mrs. Rogers was lettin’ it happen,” said Rebecca.

“I’m not a —“

“It’s not my business. Has Mrs. Rogers been tryin’ to come over or somethin’?” interrupted Rebecca.

“Eh…Well she’s been pretty sick the past two months and I think she was expectin’ her best friend to make an appearance or something.”

“Two months? Is she okay?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Marianna and I’ll send over some food so she can take off more work,” said Rebecca. “Does she have pneumonia too?”

“I don’t think so…C’mon let’s win her a stuffed animal,” said Bucky. He and Rebecca won the dolphin who had clearly had a button sewn on in place of its left eye. Rebecca said it gave it character. 

“You won me a dolphin?” asked Marnie, still panting from the Cyclone. 

“No, it’s for Mrs. Rogers.”

“I didn’t know you liked older women,” laughed Marnie. 

“I wanna go on the carousel before we go,” said Rebecca. 

“Go with Marnie,” said Bucky, “two grown men can’t ride the carousel.”

Marnie rolled her eyes and headed off with Rebecca. Steve paid them no mind.

He walked with confidence through the thinning crowd and sat on bench bolted into the railing by the beach. Bucky watched him for a few moments. Was he nauseous from the ride or in one of his contemplative moods. He got into them more often now with Sarah so sick, so often. Bucky fought the crowd and joined him on the bench.

“What’s on your mind, Stevie?” asked Bucky with a nudge to his shoulder.

“Mom,” sighed Steve, his eyes trained on his feet. Bucky put an arm around his neck. 

“She’s gonna be fine.”

“I know…but I’m worried.”

A comfortable silence set in between them and the roar and din of Coney Island filled the void. For a few moments they both listened to the abstract conversations and laughs and wails of the happier crowd there. 

“Y’know ever since my dad died, I’ve been worryin’ over her too. But now it’s real.”

“Stevie, she’s just overdue for bein’ sick. Just like you were with your pneumonia. She’ll be fine in a couple ‘a weeks,” said Bucky. Though he sounded casual and calm, he was just as worried as Steve. She wasn’t young anymore, this could be what wiped her out. 

“You’re probably right…” added Steve. Bucky laughed. “Thanks for everything.”

“What everything?”

“I’m not gonna write up an invoice but you’ve done a lot,” said Steve, a smile finally creeping onto his face. Bucky nudged his shoulder against Steve’s as a response. Steve nudged him back, Bucky nudged back harder, Steve nudged back harder. Bucky gave in and pushed Steve over. Steve laughed into the sand before Bucky pulled him back up. 

“What’ll happen to us when we graduate?” asked Steve, the smile never leaving his face. 

“You tryin’ ta get rid of me, Rogers?”

“Never,” said Steve. “Sometimes though. I wonder if we have an expiry date.”

“How poetic of you,” teased Bucky. Steve didn’t laugh. Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s shoulder. “I know things feel really heavy around you recently, but they’ll lighten up. We’ll be happy like we were.”

Steve looked at him, a mix of gratitude and skepticism. Bucky smiled back.

“Buck!” shouted Marnie further down the boardwalk. “C’mon the lines too long, we’re gonna go get dinner!”

 

 

 

Days became weeks and Sarah was still showing no signs of recovery. She’d been taking off work for the past six weeks but they were held up their savings and the food that Rebecca brought over. Bucky and Steve prayed daily and nightly, no longer trying to hide it from the other. Neither was ever without their rosary.

Sarah was too weak to leave the house, hell, she was too weak to leave her bed. Father Trent brought her communion and prayed for her to be healed but Bucky couldn’t see it happening. It’d been four months of consistent prayer and she’d only gotten worse. Eventually she was too weak to feed herself and Steve had taken up the position of nurse. He said once that she’d done it for him enough, that he owed her this much and more. 

And then one day, Sarah couldn’t make it to the living room. She just couldn’t make it. Steve and Bucky helping her did nothing, she was just too feverish, too many miles away, too weak to keep herself upright on the couch, or awake in the armchair. Steve and Bucky helped her back to bed and Steve tucked her in. He met Bucky in the kitchen and sat in his usual chair, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. 

She wasn’t going to get better and Bucky knew it. He wasn’t going to tell Steve that, but he also wasn’t going to fill him with false hope. So he sat next to him in complete silence. 

Some days she seemed to be getting better but given two more days she’d be even worse than before. Some of Sarah’s old colleagues had given her free exams months before, back when she was still walking, and they’d diagnosed her with an aggressive flu. This flu wasn’t aggressive, it was malicious and vindictive.

Steve and Bucky’s grades slipped for obvious reasons but Rebecca told the administration why and miraculously their grades were back up again. Bucky might’ve resented the special treatment if they didn’t need it so badly.

Sarah’s lucidity was shoddy at best these days. She had a few five minute intervals of herself before she drifted back into her state. And it couldn’t be called senility. She knew who she was she knew where she was but she was experiencing everything on a different plane from Steve and Bucky. And in those fleeting moments when she returned, Steve was at her side. 

“I love you boys, I love you both so much,” croaked Sarah. Bucky adjusted her covers while Steve made sure her pillows were supportive enough for her to sit up and eat. 

“We love you too, Mom,” said Steve, “don’t talk like that.”

Denial was putting it lightly for Steve. He’d convinced himself his mother would wake up the next morning healed. 

“I wish Jana were here,” muttered Sarah. She’d been sitting up, she’d said she was hungry, but as she spoke she slid under the covers and started falling asleep again. 

“W-why do you wish my mom were here?” asked Bucky. 

“You boys don’t understand it, hopefully you never have to…My husband’s gone and my best friend hasn’t spoken to me in months…It’s not how I imagined this at all…”

“Imagined…Imagined what, Ma?” asked Steve. His hand found hers. Bucky rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder, hoping to give him some comfort but knowing there was nothing that could make this better.

“Ma — You’re not gonna die, you’re just a little sick. I’ve been this sick and I’ve come back and you will too,” said Steve with no conviction.

“I’m not trying to scare you, Stevie. Everyone has their time and I’ve got the sense that this might be mine,” said Sarah very matter-of-factly. She rested a weary hand on his cheek and smiled with what little energy she’d stored up. 

“Mom, you’re gonna live for a long time.”

“We all think that, Stevie…It’d be nice to see your father again. Anything you want me to tell him?”

“No — Mom, you’re not gonna die, end of discussion,” snapped Steve. He forced a spoonful of soup into Sarah’s mouth. She remembered she’d been hungry and ate. Bucky dug his thumbs into Steve’s shoulders, trying to relax him but knowing there was nothing he could do. 

 

 

 

There weren’t many people on earth that could bring Bucky to talk to his parents but Steve and Sarah were two of those people. Steve didn’t like leaving Sarah alone these days and Bucky didn’t like leaving her or him alone either. So it was painful both ways for Bucky to head to his parents’ apartment but he needed to see his mother. 

Knocking felt strange. They’d had the locks changed a few months back so he couldn’t let himself in but, knocking? On his own door? Though, as much as he hated to admit it, it didn’t really feel like home anymore. 

“What are you doing here?” said Bucky’s mother through the door. 

“Open the damn door, Ma!” snapped Bucky. The door opened but was chained. His mothers face was blank and cold, just as he’d recalled.

“You’re not gonna let me in.” 

“Why’re you here, James?” said his mother. Her voice was much too calm for the situation. 

“Ma, Mrs. Rogers is dying. She misses you,” said Bucky. 

“Is that Bucky?” asked Tommy’s voice in the background. “Buck — what the hell’re you doin’ here?”

At least one person was happy to see him. 

“Mom, let ‘im in.”

His mother’s eyes never left his as she reluctantly unchained the door and let Bucky in. Bucky’s father was there in a minute, both wary of Bucky’s presence so late at night and happy to see his son after so many months. Tommy patted the couch cushion next to him but Bucky knew he’d be thrown out before he was given the chance to sit. 

“What brings you back?” asked his father as he took a sea in his armchair. 

“Sarah Rogers is dying and she keeps asking to see Mom one more time,” said Bucky. Smiles faded and the mood dampened just as Bucky had expected. 

“I’m not seeing that woman,” muttered his mother.

“She’s on her deathbed,” said Bucky. 

“As she deserves!” snapped his mother quite suddenly. “Letting you live there with her son, letting you just…have your way with yourself. I’m not surprised God didn’t take her sooner.”

“You miserable old bitch,” said Bucky.

“Hey!” shouted Bucky’s father. “You don’t talk to you mother that way!”

“My mother is lying on her deathbed! Jana Barnes already disowned me!”

“Bucky!” shouted his father. Bucky’s eyes wouldn’t leave his mother’s and vice versa. She was cracking but not enough for Bucky to believe he’d actually gotten through to her. “Stop fighting you two! We’re all tired of it.”

“He’s a queer!”

“She’s the devil!”

“Neither of those are true!” snapped his father. 

“Either you go visit your best friend on her deathbed or this is last you ever see of me,” screamed Bucky.

His mother froze. For a moment she looked like she might’ve softened, might’ve decided that some things were more important than her hatred for Bucky. She steadied herself and replied softly, “then I guess this is goodbye.”

Without another word, Bucky left. He didn’t have time to waste on her anymore and yet he damn near broke down on the way home. His mother had never been warm, soft, or even nurturing. She was a cold presence in the house but since he was young he always assumed under the hard exterior was a woman who loved him. Evidently that curse she cast on him was strong enough for her to feel no remorse in whatever she did or said to him. And while it shook him, it was over now. He knew how she felt and he had no time to dwell on it.

 

 

 

The pharmacist Steve worked for provided him and Bucky free pain killers for Sarah, she often didn’t remember taking them and this was the one time Steve let his pride slide, let someone help him without any form of payment. Bucky couldn’t do anything. Rebecca reminded him of that as often as she could. Partly because she wanted to lift the burden, but partly because she was wanting more time with him before they graduated and things went right up in the air. 

Sarah had moved into the living room. It was harder to get her to the bathroom but she preferred it out there where she could look out the window and watch the kids play. She could also listen to Joseph’s records out there. Steve had started sleeping in his father’s old armchair, watching over her daily and nightly. He missed a lot of school. A lot. But the administration understood. They’d all seen Sarah when they came by for communion, they knew Steve needed to be with her. 

Bucky spent a lot of his time these days writing notes for two, remembering every detail of the lesson well enough to teach it to Steve later that night. Marnie picked up half of that workload and Steve did get every assignment done and perfected. He rarely spoke these days, If he wasn’t praying he was eating, if he wasn’t eating he was studying, if he wasn’t studying he was trying to stay awake. He didn’t have time to talk and Bucky understood. He didn’t push the issue. He ate with Steve, studied with Steve, prayed with Steve.

They graduated. Sarah couldn’t come and Bucky’s parents wouldn’t come, or rather his mother wouldn’t allow the family to attend. They decided they wouldn’t let it bother them. They walked the stage and got cheers from their fellow classmates. Marnie hugged the life out of them both afterwords. Marcus Flannigan invited them both out to a party, Lara promised she’d be there, Andrew Palmer begged Steve to bring Rebecca. 

“I’m going home,” said Steve. The crowd around them nodded solemnly. The whole school heard about Steve and his mother. And while Steve hated everyone knowing his business he liked not having to explain his absences to anyone. 

“Next time,” said Marcus.

“I’m goin’ back too,” said Bucky.

They took their gowns off, Bucky carried them both, it was too damn hot to keep wearing them, and of course, they’d look ridiculous.

“We’re grown now, Stevie,” laughed Bucky.

“I don’t feel grown,” replied Steve.

“I don’t think anyone feels grown. C’mon, aren’t you excited?”

Steve shrugged. Bucky draped an arm around his shoulder. Nothing he could say would make it better, nothing he could do would make it better, he just had to be there to catch Steve when it happened. He wished Steve weren’t in such horrible denial though. If, even on some level, he accepted Sarah’s fate it might not hit him so hard. But he was just as stubborn as his mother.

 

 

 

“What’s she up to?” asked Bucky as woke two weeks later. Steve had taken to sleeping in the armchair, Bucky had taken to sleeping in the bay window to be near them both. Summer started which meant he was now full-time at the docks. Though with the current situation he got days off a bit easier. Where once he would’ve used the free day to try and plan a date for him and Steve, he was now preparing for his hundredth night in with Steve and Sarah.

“She’s just…people watching,” sighed Steve. 

“I remember when you and Bucky would go out to Coney Island with girls and you’d come home all mopey,” said Sarah in a voice louder than they’d heard in weeks. “Look at you now.”

Steve sat up a little straighter, Bucky got out of the bay window and hurried to Steve’s side.

“All grown and graduated. I’m so proud of you both…I remember when I brought you home from the hospital, Stevie. You were so small…none of the boys would play with you, they thought they’d snap you in half…I remember pushing you in the pram around the block just the two of us…right after you’d been born…I was so sore and tired and you were so small and weak…but we did it, we went on a walk every day…”

“Mom…” began Steve, his voice shaking already, “are you okay?”

“I’m…I’m only thinking…” replied Sarah. “Staring at the kids playing reminds me of you two…Remember when we used to call you James?”

“I do…” muttered Bucky. There was a strange tension in the air. Bucky wondered if maybe this was her last. Judging by how tight Steve’s hand was on his wrist, he was thinking the same. She was smiling at nothing in particular, or something she wasn’t voicing. Steve stood and knelt by her side, taking her frail hand.

“I wish you could’ve seen Ireland, Stevie. It’s beautiful…And it did your father and I well…Oh your father…Joseph was such a sweet man, he was always right with me. No matter how many babies I lost or how many times I got so sick we went into debt he was always with me. I can’t believe after all this time I’m going to see him again.”

“You’re not,” said Steve strongly. Bucky was scrambling for something to do. The only thing he could think off was switching out the washcloth on her head for a fresh one. 

“He’d be proud of you. He’d be so proud and I’ll tell him how happy you are. You two are.”

“Mom, you need…You need to stop talking like this, you’re going to be okay,” said Steve. Sarah nodded and returned to her semi-lucid state of staring out the window and watching the familiarity of kids playing. 

 

 

 

“Stevie, before we go you should ask Father Trent — “

“Ask him what?” snapped Steve. Bucky had been skirting around the issue of Sarah’s last rites for days now. She needed them and she needed them quick but Steve was still convinced she was going to make it. He figured bringing it up after mass was his best opportunity.

“Stevie, please,” sighed Bucky as Steve stormed out the side entrance. He was headed towards the baseball diamond instead of heading home. There was something comforting about the diamond that Bucky and Steve could never place their fingers on. Maybe it was the years spent playing there or the years spent hanging around there. Either way, if Steve headed for comfort instead of denial, Bucky knew he’d be able to snap him out of it. 

“Steve!” screamed Bucky as Steve started kicking up the clay around home plate. Steve didn’t respond but he also didn’t run. “Stevie, I know this is hard—“

“What the fuck do you know about it? You’ve got four siblings and two parents,” spat Steve, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s. And he was right. Bucky had only ever been emotionally invested in one funeral and it was Steve’s dad’s. He’d never lost anyone. 

“Maybe I don’t know about it personally—but I know it’s hard. I understand why you’re avoiding this, Stevie, but she’s earned it. She’s done it for you enough times—“

“I was close to death!”

“What do you think she is, Steve?! She’s lucid every other week, she can’t walk without us, she can’t eat without us, and she doesn’t even know it! She’s going!” Bucky planned on being much gentler with that assertion. But he stuck with it, because Steve was responding. His eyes had teared up and his face had frozen. 

“God, she is isn’t she…” muttered Steve. He was too stubborn to let tears fall. His eyes left Bucky’s and locked onto the grey sky. Bucky did him the courtesy of pretending his tears weren’t obvious. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Sarah had never died before, there was no experience for him to draw on. 

“Steve, it’ll be okay—”

“It won’t be okay,” snapped Steve, no longer caring if tears overwhelmed him. “She’ll be dead.”

Yes. Bucky had no argument to smooth that over, Steve was right. Sarah was going to die and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Nothing Bucky could do for Steve or Sarah, nothing anyone could do. 

“I can’t do it, Bucky. I can’t do it, I can’t be an orphan, I can’t lose her, she can’t lose me — Buck, it’s been the two of us for so long, I can’t — she’s so young! It’s not fair!”

Bucky shook him. It probably wasn’t the best thing he could’ve done but that’s what he did. He grabbed Steve by his shoulders and shook him until he shut up.

“It doesn’t matter, Steve! It doesn’t matter if you can’t do it! It’s not up to you! God’s not gonna wait to take her when it’s convenient for you, He’s on his way to get her right now! He’s not asking permission, Steve! You don’t have to be ready, but she does. You have to get her ready for it, Stevie.”

Steve hung his head. Bucky figured he might. His tears were coming down too strongly for him to hide them but he could at least put his head down. Bucky sighed and pulled him into a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve didn’t respond, his tears wouldn’t let him. But once he was all cried out, Steve marched back in the church and Father Trent went home with them. Steve let her have her last rites, Bucky even convinced him to start keeping an eye out for apartments that weren’t big enough to accommodate almost four people. Steve was half in and half out, half resigned and half hopeful.

All week, Sarah was reciting favorite memories and requesting Steve stay by her bedside. Steve wouldn’t leave. He held her hand and listened to the stories she recounted with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart. Bucky stayed on the sidelines though occasionally Sarah would add how much she loved him. How much she loved them together. How much she’d keep on loving them. Steve still wouldn’t let her talk like she was dying, his last string of hope had yet to be cut. 

On her last morning she requested the drapes be opened so she could watch the kids playing out in the street. She requested Steve play some of Joseph’s old records. Steve held her hand and she was gone before the album faded out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I took too long to update, sorryyy. Comment if you liked it, I'm dying inside :) (also the next chapter will be up in the next few days since I edited it at the same time as this chapter)

 

“Alright, faggots!” screamed Sarge. “Birdie in censorship tells me you and your dumbass families talk a little too much!”

He strode to the center of their barracks, mail in-hand, and glared at the men. “Now I know that we told you idiots that it’s good practice not to tell your family details. And it’s good practice to make sure they don’t send you details. When you go out to Germany to rip Adolf’s dick off, you won’t get far if the Krauts already know your whole life story as well as your battle plans!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” roared the men. 

“To teach you this lesson, I’ll be reading your mail today.” Sarge smiled. He never smiled and it didn’t suit him. For once he appeared to be enjoying his job. “To Jackson Dobbs, from Millicent Dobbs.” 

Sarge shoved his pinkie under the tab and ripped open the letter. He held it at arms length dramatically and for once didn’t quiet the snickers already beginning in the room. “Dearest Jack, Each day without you at my side is torture. I yearn for the day you’re back in our bed.” Sarge dramatically read the long romantic soliloquy that followed. Dobbs was bright red the entire time and the room was in tears.

“Your mother is concerned about your living conditions. She said she’ll send you new boots with softer soles if you’d like. Send us a line quick. Ever yours, Millie.” Sarge dropped his arm for a moment. “See soldiers! These bits and pieces of information, they’re worth something to the enemy! The enemy doesn’t need to know if you’re tired, if you’ve been walkin’ for miles, if you’re sick, if you’re weak! So you don’t tell no one that!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” replied the soldiers, Sarge waved it away and drew another letter from the pile. That letter belonged to Randalls, from his younger sister. It was innocuous and detailed the layout of her new office and her new coworkers. Sarge read Hopper’s next. It was from his mother and was by far the most humiliating. It was two pages of motherly concern for the few beatings he’d taken. 

Another overprotective mother gave her poor, idiot son tips on how to get the other soldiers to like him. Sarge let them sit then, he sat too. He read four or five forlorn lover’s letters. Wives and girls begging for their men to come home and comfort them. They blended together eventually. All of the lovers words were for all of the soldiers then. Two or three turned to seven or eight letters and Sarge grew hoarse.

“Alright,” said Sarge after handing over his last letter. “I’ve made my point. If you don’t want me knowing it you sure as Hell don’t want the enemy knowing it. We have soldiers who censor our letters but let’s not make their jobs too lucrative. At ease!”

The men stood and collected their letters from the stack of mail Sarge hadn’t violated. Bucky found a letter from Rebecca. The other men moved to the simple privacy of their bunks to drift away to a happier place where they could read their letters in peace. Bucky did the same. He sat at the edge of his bunk and ripped open the carefully penned letter from his sister.

Dear Buck,

So what? You’re just not breaking out? Where’s the big escape plan where you tell Uncle Sam you’re too busy to die? Just so you don’t go nuts up there, Tommy and Vince haven’t come back from basic yet, it’ll be a bit still. I hear it’s three odd months before they deploy you, even six months. But I had two boys in my class come back from basic and get deployed no more than a few weeks later. 

Anyway enough about all that. I’ll talk of what you really want to hear of. He’s doing okay. He won’t stop trying to enlist though. Ever since you left he’s working day in day out to fool the doctors into thinking he’s not got asthma. Like they aren’t going to spot it. I think what it really is is that he’s jealous of you being able to go off and do it all. I know you’ve been sure of that for a while before you left but it’s just starting to dawn on me now. Send him words of reassurance or he’ll slip through the cracks and actually get drafted God forbid. 

Speaking of all that, how are you with the men there? I know you said you get along with a small group of them. Do they know about you or have you made sure not to mention it. I know a blue discharge could ruin your changes at some jobs but it’ll save your life, Buck. But I know it’s not exactly safe to admit it all, to anyone. I just don’t want you to let shame get in the way of you coming home permanently. If they think boys like you ruin the military who cares? Who cares what some bigot thinks of you if it means you can come back home.

I miss you, we all do but I have the best handwriting out of all of us so I’m the sibling who wrote you. That and my boss gives me free postage. I hope you’re well but not too well, try not to get deployed. 

Love always,  
Rebecca

Bucky folded the note up and slipped it back into it’s envelope. He hadn’t told Rebecca of his promotion to sniper. He hadn’t told anyone. It would be another crushing blow to Steve’s ego as well as a huge concern for Steve and his siblings. There was no point in telling them when he couldn’t be there to reassure them it wasn’t as dangerous as it sounded, though he really didn’t know that. Not for a fact.

“Hey Barnes,” said Randalls. He stood next to Bucky’s bunk, a letter in hand. “Think this one’s yours too.”

“Thanks.” Bucky took it and recognized the return address as his own apartment. The glue on the back either wore off or the letter had been opened. His thumb ran under the open letter and stared at Randalls. “You readin’ my mail?”

“I got better things to do than read your mail,” laughed Randalls. He didn’t say no. 

Bucky waited until Randalls, and anyone else hovering near him and his bunk left before he took the note out. Steve always wrote pages and pages of needless rambling that got Bucky through the days and the nights. But this note was two pages at most. 

Dear Bucky, 

I know you don’t want to hear it, but I believe in this war. And I believe in you being in bootcamp, and I believe you and I we got no right to try and skip out on battle. You know that, you know I believe all those things. But goddamn. I’d sell out all those beliefs to have you back home for an afternoon. 

I go to work, I come home. I go to work, I come home. I miss you like crazy. I know it’s only been eight and a half weeks exactly but it feels like a lifetime you’ve been gone. I don’t know how I’ll make it through your last month and a half. Really, Bucky, I miss you. Yeah yeah, there’re lonely nights and frustrated mornings, but I miss just being with you. Just sitting by you and listening to you say stupid shit.

Can’t you sneak off base, walk back to Brooklyn, and come have lunch with me like we used to? Sometimes I look out the window at the pharmacy and expect to see you there, all sweaty and dirty from working all morning, carrying your lunch, waving at me to meet you across the street on the little bench. I swear it’s so real. Some days I’ll go sit on our bench and think I just heard you say something. Something stupid. 

Stay safe, I know army men aren’t the most forgiving. I want you home in one piece alright? I’m making you the biggest dinner our ugly little kitchen’ll fit soon as you get off that train. I can’t wait to just have dinner with you again. 

Do you think we’ll talk like this Buck? When you get back, will we still say all these things? Will we still tell each other so directly what we want, what we miss? I just don’t know if we will. But even if we don’t, I’ll have saved all your letters home. Though we may never truly know what the hell’s going on, at least I’ll know you’re just as confused as me. 

Yours,  
Steve

 

 

 

“When they deploy me, they’ll have to drag me off the dock, I’m not makin’ it easy for ‘em,” muttered Randalls into the barrel of his rifle. 

“I’m still banking on the war ending before bootcamp ends,” said Dobbs. 

“You really think it will?” laughed Bucky. He snapped the barrel out of the mount. He hated cleaning out the gun, it was tedious and smelled like a mechanic’s shop but it was the most relaxing activity they had. 

Dobbs shrugged and shoved a pipe cleaner down the barrel. “It started really suddenly. I don’t see why it couldn’t end just as quick.”

“It didn’t start suddenly,” said Randalls. “It was a long time coming. It’s gonna be a long time going.”

“That’s the spirit,” spat Dobbs.

“With my luck, I’ll die the day before it’s over,” said Bucky. He blew the debris and dust from his section of the table. 

“Wah wah wah,” mocked Dobbs. “There’ll be tons of men dead the day before it ends. It’s not some divine curse that’s gonna make you one of ‘em.”

“Stop givin’ him flak about his dumb superstitions,” said Randalls. Bucky smirked. 

Sundays were their days “off”. They couldn’t leave base but they only had to workout once and there was no mandatory attendance at the meager chapel services. There were still chores to complete for the next day but there was no Sarge breathing down their necks making sure they did it. 

The snipers had to give their guns a deep clean, but after that they were off duty. Bucky read the only book he’d brought. Steve shoved it into his bag the day he left. Bucky nearly chucked it out but Steve insisted there might be days off. He hated when Steve was right, he got such a smug look in his eye. 

It was Ulysses by James Joyce. Bucky’d opened it enough times but could never get past the first or second page. His mind wandered too easily these days. There was too much to worry about, too much to wonder about that reading a book felt like a waste of time. Every Sunday he tried, desperately, to get to the third page. And every Sunday he failed. 

“Hey Barnes!” shouted Dobbs from somewhere around the edge of his bed. The bunks did go up high, but Dobbs was shorter than most and it was easy to ignore him from the top bunk. His short arm reached up and punched his thigh.

“Fuck—What the hell—“

“Let’s eat,” replied Dobbs. 

“You could’ve just said that, asshole,” replied Bucky. 

“That didn’t hurt, pussy.”

If Bucky was going to take abuse from any of his friends out there, it was Dobbs. The gouges Bucky scratched into Dobbs’s cheek were scarring. He looked like he’d already seen battle. The nurses swore they’d fade in a few more months but until then Bucky felt like shit every time he looked at Dobbs’s fucked up cheek.

“Barnes,” said Randalls appearing at Bucky’s bunk, “can I get a word?”

“What do you need to talk to him about?” asked Dobbs. 

“Very important business about being over six feet tall,” replied Randalls. Dobbs waved his comments away and headed out to eat. Randalls waited until he was gone before he said another word. 

“What’s going on?” asked Bucky. 

“What are you?” whispered Randalls.

Bucky’s stomach couldn’t decide whether it wanted to drop out of his body or climb up his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Barnes you’ll get yourself killed at this rate,” said Randalls. He leant against Bucky’s bunk, Bucky stayed frozen where he was, too worried to move. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“I read the letter you got from that guy,” said Randalls like it was nothing.

“You had no right—no business—and either way it’s not what you think—“ stammered Bucky. 

“I’m not turning you in or anything,” said Randalls. “But come on? You used your full names, and you didn’t rake me over the coals when I handed you that letter opened. Are you even trying?”

“Trying to do what?” asked Bucky. 

“A blue discharge gets you out of the war, sure, but you’ll never get a job—“ 

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down!” snapped Bucky. “I know what a blue discharge gets me, shut the fuck up about it.”

“Alls I’m sayin’ is you need a codename for him if this is how it’s gonna be. When we get deployed someone reads every letter in and out. You’re fuckin’ lucky Sarge didn’t read it out.”

Bucky knew Randalls was right, but he didn’t like Randalls knowing. 

“So what’re you gonna do to me?” Bucky asked half out of his combative nature and half out of fear and curiosity. 

“Nothing,” replied Randalls. “We’re friends aren’t we?”

Bucky stared at him, waiting for the other shoe. Randalls stared right back, waiting for the same thing. “You don’t want any favors?”

“Barnes, you’re the only sane person in this entire fuckin’ squadron. I don’t care what it is that makes you sane. Now come on lets eat,” said Randalls.

Bucky walked a halfstep behind him all the way to the mess tent. Each step felt like he was walking into a trap and a good part of him wanted to. Wanted to get caught, wanted every higher up to find out about him, wanted Agent Carter herself to drive into town and pistol whip him before serving him his blue discharge so he could go home and go delinquent on his bills.

But that didn’t happen. He walked into the mess tent, got his food, and sat with the men he always sat with. And they talked about the dumb shit they always talked about. Bucky didn’t join in this time, just tried to eye Randalls to see if he meant it, if he was really going to keep this to himself. So far so good. When Randalls caught him staring he did him the courtesy of just grinning back. 

“Why’re you so quiet?” said Dobbs, punctuated by a hard kick under the table. Bucky groaned but there was no room for him to reach down and soothe his leg.

“Leave ‘im alone,” said Randalls, “he got bad news from home.”

“Oh…” said Dobbs. 

“What news?” said Lewandowski.

“That’s private, asshole,” replied Randalls. 

“Well you know! What are you his wife?” laughed Dobbs. He knew they didn’t know, couldn’t know. But it sure as hell felt like everyone knew, and everyone was in on some joke. He could practically feel the fists against the back of his head. He knew Randalls would get offended at being called his wife and let the cat out of the bag and it’d be over. His heart sped up at the idea though. Getting to leave, getting to go home and put that blue discharge to use. 

But Randalls just laughed. “Yeah, we got married last Sunday,” he put on a thick Brooklyn accent to mimic Bucky, “we’re hyphenatin’.”

“Shut up, Randalls,” said Dobbs, fighting a laugh.

“That’s Randalls-Barnes to you,” replied Randalls.

When he could, he gave Bucky a quick wink. Relief and frustration flooded him. The fear of being found out was weighing so evenly with the desire to go home at any cost. 

 

 

 

Bucky rarely, if ever, found it difficult to sleep. Yes, his mind was constantly racing about what life would bring him next and how much long it would last. But he’d been worried about those things since his first day. If he lost sleep over that, he’d never sleep. So to be wide awake, staring at the ceiling, was frustrating. 

Some part of him wondered if the anxiety over the days events were keeping him up but he didn’t feel anxious. Maybe he should have but there was so much good that came with being found out that it failed to feel like the disaster it was. So he was awake, for no reason, and had to be up and ready to shoot and run and jump and climb all day in a few measly hours.

He decided eventually to entertain himself with a trip to the bathroom. The bed creaked as he scooted out of it but no one stirred. He padded down the barracks and into their bathroom. Across the hall from their showers, and identical in size and shape. Old tiles and brick mixed on the walls and water collected in random puddles after being dripped endlessly from the leaky pipes above. Bucky meandered expertly around those pools of stagnant water to get to the urinals. There were no lights in the bathroom. It burned out their first week and Sarge said either it was daylight and the windows were enough light or it was night and they should be asleep. 

But the moonlight was enough. Bucky wished, just once, that the sky would be completely clouded one night so he wouldn’t have to see the damn moon. The pale blue light brought him back, instantly, to his endless nights on the fire escape, pretending not to watch Steve’s eyelashes in that very same light. He meandered to the sinks and stared in the mirror. He didn’t have the energy or willpower to cry about anything anymore but tonight he really felt like he might. He tried not to let himself think about Steve, he knew it’d drive him insane, but he couldn’t help it after the day he’d had. He wanted nothing more than to walk into their cracker-box apartment, lock the door and tell Steve everything. 

“Barnes,” whispered someone in the doorway. Bucky turned to look. The man took a few steps forward into the light and waved awkwardly.

“Randalls,” replied Bucky. Randalls had his boots on, Bucky didn’t. If he was going to take a beating it was going to hurt like hell. 

“What’re you doing?” Randalls took a few more steps towards him. 

“What do you think?” replied Bucky. “Did you need something?”

He held up something Bucky couldn’t quite make out. “Interested?”

“What is it?” said Bucky, squinting at Randalls. He muttered something and walked the rest of the way to Bucky at the far sink.

“Stole cigarettes earlier off Dobbs. Name brand and all thought you might want one, or two,” said Randalls.

Bucky couldn’t help but ask, “why?”

Randalls shrugged. “It’s been a tough day. You seem tense.”

“You lace these with arsenic or something?” said Bucky, hoping he sounded more jokey than he meant it.

“No just tobacco,” laughed Randalls, “and whatever else is in cigarettes.”

“Listen…” began Bucky, feeling already like he’d made a mistake, “you don’t have to be nice me. I don’t know what you’re doing but if you wanna tell the unit and beat the shit outta me, you can do that. I know I’m the best shot here but if you decide to frag me or whatever I’m not gonna retaliate. I don’t have the energy anymore.”

Randalls said nothing. He pulled a cigarette from the box, lit it with the matches in his armband, and took a long drag that he blew in Bucky’s face with a grin. “What the hell happened to you that havin’ a friend makes you paranoid?”

Bucky chuckled. “How long you got?”

“That much huh?” said Randalls. Bucky nodded and fished a cigarette out of the box for himself. Randalls lit a match and lit it for him. “Well, I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, or pretend I understand any of it. But you went squirrelly during lunch. And you wouldn’t talk to me all day. So I wanted to catch you alone and make sure you’re not gonna start givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Bucky took a drag and shook his head. “Everyone else here gets on my fuckin’ nerves, why would I stop talkin’ to you.”

“That’s all I came in here to ask,” said Randalls triumphantly. He paused for a second, his cigarette glowing orange briefly. He started to speak a few times and failed a few times before getting the courage back up to try again. “Miss him?”

“We’re not gonna talk about this,” said Bucky, firmly.

“Why not?” said Randalls.

“I don’t like talking about it,” said Bucky, surprised at his own honesty.

“Okay…” said Randalls, clearly ramping up for another question Bucky didn’t want to answer. “You’re sure…You’re positive you’re like that?”

Bucky just glared at him. 

“You’re right, stupid question,” said Randalls with an awkward laugh. “But how’d you know he was the same?”

“Why’re you asking me this?” Bucky leaned back against the sinks. Confident now that Randalls wasn’t looking to fight.

Randalls shrugged. “Just curious about it. I’ve never met one ‘a you.”

“Well, I’m not an expert on how it works. I don’t know all that code and shit that they apparently use, I just got lucky,” said Bucky.

“How’d you meet him?” asked Randalls, he leaned against the sink, a little too close to Bucky. Bucky was an inch taller but without his boots they were the same size. Bucky wondered if Randalls was hoping to collect on the favor he said he didn’t want. Bucky always knew this was a possibility if the men found out. They’d rather put him to use than snitch and get him sent home. But he didn’t expect it from Randalls.

“What’s it matter how we met?” snapped Bucky.

“Making conversation,” said Randalls.

“Feels more like an interrogation.” Bucky felt Randalls hand against his on the countertop, trying to cover his own. He snatched his away quick. “The hell are you doing?”

“I…” began Randalls, when he didn’t continue Bucky looked him in the eye. Randalls looked embarrassed or ashamed, not at all the emotions Bucky was expecting to see. “I don’t know, man.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Look, I’m not…” Randalls groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m not like you or anything but ya know…I…I’m sick of doing it myself.”

And there it was. The favor Bucky knew he’d have to give Randalls in exchange for his silence. Would it be easier to turn himself in though? Was one man worth a blue discharge. If the whole squadron was passing him around, yes, he’d turn himself in. But a blue discharge wasn’t nothing, he’d never work again. Was that worth it to avoid whatever Randalls wanted from him?

“Are you serious?” said Bucky.

“I was sworn to secrecy, but it’s you so it doesn’t matter—Dobbs got head from Hopper. I only know cause I caught ‘em. And I guess maybe it’s not so weird since there’s no other option and…I’m fuckin’ dyin’ without someone to…”

Bucky just stared at him, let him wallow in silence a bit longer. Let himself mull it over a bit longer, decide what he’d do because it was clear, Randalls wanted him even if he was too embarrassed to say it outright. If he said yes Randalls might snitch on him anyway and use whatever they did as proof. He didn’t want to put himself in that position but the bullets Randalls was sweating told Bucky, whatever happened in the next few minutes would never leave the bathroom, no matter what it was.

“Okay,” said Randalls, breaking the long silence with cigarette smoke. “Forget I said anything, let’s just go back to normal.”

Bucky shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette on the countertop. “You started this, follow through.”

“Huh?” said Randalls, his voice shaking. It was weird to see him so off kilter. Randalls was so similar to him in so many ways, it took so much to visibly rattle him and any deep emotions were concealed by sarcasm and deflection. To have him shaking between drags of his cigarette was surreal.

“What do you want?” said Bucky. Maybe the schoolboy anxiety radiating off of Randalls softened him or maybe he was just as desperate for another person. Desperate to feel something that wasn’t abject fear an anxiety.

“Oh…” said Randalls. “I…I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d get this far without you deckin’ me.”

“Yes you did,” said Bucky. Randalls complete lack of confidence gave Bucky a newfound swell of it. “So what did you want?”

“Uh…” stammered Randalls. Bucky pushed off of the sink and stood, nose to nose with Randalls. And reached between them to palm Randalls through his shorts. “Shit…”

“Good?” said Bucky. To Randalls’s credit, he never looked away from Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t have the strength for words so he nodded. It reminded Bucky of the first time he tried this. He couldn’t get a word out either he’d been so nervous. 

Bucky didn’t look down, he looked over Randalls’s shoulder at the door that could open at any time. He needed this to go faster. He shimmied Randalls’s shorts down and did what he knew felt good. No teasing, no comfort, just as quick as he could make this before one of the other soldiers came through that door. Randalls squeaked and rested his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Be quiet,” said Bucky. 

“Barnes should I…” whispered Randalls as his hand found its way between Bucky’s legs. Bucky’s eyes threatened to close for a moment, but they remained locked on the bathroom door.

“Can you?” asked Bucky genuinely. Randalls responded by diving into his waistband and stroking Bucky. Too fast, too dry, too clueless, too scared. Yeah, he and Randalls were not the same. “Randalls, no.”

“I’m trying,” replied Randalls pathetically. “I’ve never done it.”

“You’ve done it to yourself,” laughed Bucky. He grabbed Randalls’s hand and brought it to his mouth, licking a wet stripe up his palm. “Okay now try.”

Randalls actually shivered. Amateur. Bucky wondered if this might’ve been his first ever. Not just his first man his first experience. It wasn’t so far fetched considering how panicked he was. To help curb some of that panic, Bucky bit back the moan in his throat when Randalls began again. 

Randalls came quick, Bucky knew what he was doing. He shuddered and moaned just once before Bucky covered his mouth. He stroked him through it though and tried not to laugh at Randalls’s eyes rolling back. Once it was out of his system, Bucky removed his hand and rinsed them both in the sink.

“Your turn,” said Randalls.

“You…sure?” said Bucky.

He nodded. And started using some of the moves Bucky’d just used on him. It wasn’t perfect but it was better than before. Randalls kept looking at him, Bucky kept looking away. He didn’t see the poorly-executed kiss coming. Bucky wasn’t sure what Randalls was trying to do with that kiss, so he just turned his head away. 

“Don’t,” whispered Bucky through labored breaths.

“Sorry,” replied Randalls. 

It took most of his focus to finish. Every pleasurable night he’d ever had was called forward in an effort to forget where he really was and who he was really with. It was hard to imagine Randalls as Steve given he was a six foot two recruit not a five foot three and three quarters exactly asthmatic. But he had enough material stashed away in his memory to make it work. Randalls burying his face in Bucky’s neck didn’t help, and the strange, soft kisses he left there didn’t help. 

“Speed up,” whispered Bucky. Randalls obliged and Bucky let his eyes close for that brief moment. To Randalls’s credit, though he’d been inept the entire time, he knew enough to keep going just a bit after he came. And to stop when he got too sensitive. 

“I’m not like you,” said Randalls.

“I could tell,” replied Bucky, fixing his clothes. 

“You’re good at that,” said Randalls. 

“You’re not,” laughed Bucky. Randalls laughed with him. It was uncomfortable and awkward with no redeeming feeling of camaraderie. 

“Sorry I kissed you,” muttered Randalls as he tried to comb his hair back into place needlessly.

“It’s…” Bucky didn’t want to say ‘okay’, it wasn’t okay. There were rules to what they did and strictly no kissing was one of them. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I just thought you would’ve wanted…something. God knows none of us have had any comfort in a while.”

“We should get back to bed,” said Bucky. 

“Yeah uh, real quick…” began Randalls, drying his hands on his legs, “I know it’s kinda strange this hasn’t come up before but what’s your first name?”

Bucky laughed, how could he not. Bootcamp had them so fucked up that they knew every detail of each other’s lives after endless nights making sure their rifles were spotless and endless days running around the same track for hours. Bucky’d told him all about his siblings, his parents, though he did intentionally leave Steve out which was no easy task. And Randalls told him all about his sisters affair and the illegitimate child she never told her husband about. And yet neither of them ever thought to mention their first names. Something about bootcamp, something about war, made names not matter so much. 

But something about that night made them matter a whole lot.

“It’s James, but I go by Bucky.”

Randalls smirked and nodded, as if he’d been expecting something else. Bucky could honestly say he had no expectations of Randalls’s first name, he’d never once thought about it. 

“Mine’s Ben.”

“Ben…Boring,” said Bucky.

“Oh yeah, James is so exotic.”

They said awkward goodnights and went back to their respective bunks after that. Bucky smirked to himself as the guilt settled in his stomach. But this time he didn’t want his rosary, didn’t want to go kneel in a confessional. No he wanted to write to Steve. A lengthy apology that he knew Steve would feel was unnecessary given all of their circumstances. But there was something comforting knowing that he only needed on person’s forgiveness, love, acceptance. And he lived in Brooklyn.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me again. I guess there's a nsfw warning for this chapter but I mean who's reading this 1. at all 2. at work so does it really matter haha

 

“We looked for you after,” said Bucky. “My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”

He and Steve took the steps up to one of the few apartments Steve was seriously considering. It was a few blocks from his old place, though considerably more dilapidated. Bucky knew staying close to home was important to Steve so he scoured the classifieds for somewhere that fit the bill. 

The landlord left them a key to view the apartment at their leisure after Bucky explained the circumstances. 

“I know I’m sorry. I just…kind of wanted to be alone,” said Steve.

“How was it?” Only immediate family went to the burial. Bucky would’ve gone with Steve, but going to the burial alone was something Steve needed. Bucky just didn’t plan on him disappearing afterwards.

“It was okay, she’s next to Dad.”

“I was gonna ask…” began Bucky as he eyed the chipped apartment door.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, I just…” 

“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash,” said Bucky. Steve fumbled looking for the key. Bucky retrieved the spare key the landlord left for him. 

“Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.”

“Thing is, you don’t have to,” said Bucky. Steve tried to look away, Bucky put a hand on his shoulder to reconnect their gazes. “I’m with you ’til the end of the line, pal.” Steve had no words for him, Bucky didn’t need to hear any. “Come on, let’s get a look at your new place.”

“Potential new place,” said Steve.

“So you’re too good to stay with my parents but you’re also too good for your own apartment? Fuck that, you’re gettin’ this place,” said Bucky. “Rent is next to nothing, you’re close by to everyone and everything, it’s perfect.”

“It’s still on the pricey side,” said Steve. 

The elephant in the room made itself known. Bucky moved back in with his parents when Sarah died. He still slept at Steve’s and lived there really, but he moved his things back home to prepare for when Steve moved out. Then Steve’s distant relatives came to collect furniture and other heirlooms Steve had no space or use for. Then his things were reduced to a single storage shed. 

The funeral, the burial, the wake, were all postponed to accommodate the Irish relatives that Steve had never met. In that time he’d moved out entirely. He and Bucky shared Bucky’s childhood bedroom for nearly a month, maneuvering around boxes and boxes of Steve’s life the whole time. 

But now Steve was leaving the Barnes home. And it wasn’t clear if Bucky was coming with him. 

If Steve asked, Bucky’d follow in a heartbeat, but he didn’t want to smother him. The older they got the harder it became to read what exactly it was the other needed. Space or support? Bucky couldn’t tell and he didn’t want to hint at either because God knew Steve would never tell Bucky what he really needed.

The door to the apartment opened into a short hall comprised of half-walls. On one side of the hall was the kitchen, on the other the den. The strange setup made both rooms feel more cramped than they could afford. Bucky wandered into the kitchen while Steve wandered to the living room. There was a layer of grime on the countertops but nothing a few days of scrubbing wouldn’t cure. 

Bucky looked through the hall to see Steve running his fingertips over the dusty windows in the living room. 

“Yeah, it needs a deep-clean,” said Bucky trying to lighten him up. “Those are big windows though. Lots of light means the electric bill won’t be so high, right.”

“Right,” said Steve without looking over his shoulder. 

Past the kitchen and around the corner was the bedroom and bathroom. It was about the size of Steve’s room in his old house. Of course the only measurement Bucky ever took of that room was using his own body when he was seven. There was no way for him to know if Steve’s old bed would fit just like it should but it sure looked like it would. 

“Look, it’s even got a big window out to the fire escape,” said Bucky.

“It has to have that,” replied Steve, “it’s the fire code.”

“Yeah but not every building’s up to code, we got lucky,” said Bucky. 

The door to the bathroom creaked and screamed when Steve opened it. The bathtub would need new paint, and the medicine cabinet would need tighter hinges but other than that it was just fine. Fine. That was the perfect word for it. Fine, livable, satisfactory. 

“So, have you fallen in love with it yet?” asked Bucky when Steve finally stop running his eyes over ever detail and looked up at him. “You ready to pull the trigger?”

“So it’s me? It’s me doing this?” asked Steve.

“What do you mean?” Bucky crossed his arms and cocked his head.

“I mean this is for me. This apartment is mine?” 

“That was kind of the idea, wasn’t it? We sold your old house, you need a new one.”

“So we sold my old house but only I need a new one?” 

Bucky couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Steve was impossible to read the last year or so, and he knew he wasn’t exactly an open book either. But Steve still wanted him around and that meant something. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Bucky. The same smile spread across Steve’s face. “I was dreading trying to split up our comic collection.”

“That’s the only reason I’m offering,” teased Steve.

“C’mon lets go scrape together a deposit.”

 

 

 

Bucky enlisted Tommy to help with scrubbing down the apartment. Steve couldn’t help. There was enough dust and mold to send him to the hospital for months and they really couldn’t afford that. 

The day began with Steve headed to work and Bucky taping up boxes in his and Tommy’s old room, which had become his and Steve’s room. He was shoving Steve’s clothes into the very last box when a knock on his door jamb forced him to break his focus. 

“What?” snapped Bucky. It made no sense, everything fit in the boxes when they brought them over from Steve’s house. Why didn’t it fit now?

“You almost done?” asked Rebecca.

“Almost, why?” Bucky shoved the flaps of the box as far down as he could and taped them tight hoping that would solve his problem.

“So you’re really gonna live with him?” asked Rebecca.

Bucky shrugged. “We were living together before.”

“He’s with me,” said Rebecca. “He’s going with me. He loves me.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” said Bucky. She stayed silent and still. But she kept her eyes locked on his. Almost like a challenge. All of her confidence came from knowing Bucky had sworn off physical fights with her ever since he hit his final growth spurt. None of that confidence was rooted in what she was saying, in the truth behind it.

Part of him felt pity. She loved Steve and was stuck in limbo, constantly unsure of his feelings for her. But much more of him was determined to prove her wrong. 

“He chose me,” said Rebecca after a long, deafening pause. 

“Hey!” spat Bucky, “Be fuckin’ careful what you say next, alright? I don’t care what you think you know.”

“What I think I know,” said Rebecca with a humorless laugh. “You think we don’t all know why mom kicked you out?! You think I don’t see how you look at —“ 

“Becca!” screamed Bucky. It was loud enough to shut her up and to get the indignant look off her face. “If you ever talk like this again, you an I are gonna have real problems, understand?”

She clenched her jaw and nodded. It must’ve taken everything in her not to say what she was thinking in that moment. 

“Okay. Get the fuck out of my room.”

He watched her go and fell back onto the bed once she was out of sight. His mind raced, trying to focus on one sole aspect of anything she tried to say. Before his thoughts could coherently gather, Tommy kicked his shins and brought him back to earth. 

“Hey, fuckface. Let’s get these boxes out there, I don’t have all day.”

 

 

 

Bucky’s knuckles and fingertips were raw and sore from scrubbing as hard as he did but after a few agonizing hours, he felt confident Steve wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to anything. The furniture wasn’t in yet but Tommy helped unpack what little they had brought with them from the house. That was mainly towels, sheets, clothes, the good china, and books they had no shelves for. 

Bucky didn’t trust him with Sarah’s heirloom china so he stacked it up in the cabinets while Tommy put hangers up in the closet. When Bucky finished and meandered to the bedroom to check his progress, Tommy had put up two shirts. 

“Are you chargin’ by the hour or something?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t balled up all your clothes, they’d be easier to hang up,” said Tommy. “So who gets what?”

“Huh?” replied Bucky. 

“Who gets the closet, who gets the dresser. Who gets the bed by the window, who gets the bed on the wall. Who gets what shelf in the hall closet? I gotta know what parts of this apartment I’m allowed to fuck with,” said Tommy. 

Bucky knew what that question was asking. He watched Tommy pretend to rifle through the clothes while he waited for an answer. The clothes had no doubt been what prompted it. They were all mixed in together. The only way to tell whose was whose was the size. 

“Is this you askin’ me or does Mom wanna know?”

Tommy looked up at him with guilty eyes. “Not as subtle as I thought.”

“Not subtle at all,” said Bucky. “Why is everyone so curious about this suddenly? Huh? We’ve been sharing a room for a year at his house, we shared my room a whole month at home, but as soon as we wanna move out somewhere people start starin’ like we’re queers.”

“No one said anything about bein’ queer—“

“Well let me put your fuckin’ mind at ease,” spat Bucky. “He’s got his bed and I’m sleepin’ on the cot. Separate. That’s what you were askin’ right? That’s what you wanted to hear right?”

Tommy said nothing and kept unpacking. They were through four boxes before anyone said another word. And that word was ‘bye’.

 

 

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Bucky sat up from his spot on the floor to see Steve walking through the door.

“Hi…honey,” replied Bucky awkwardly.

“I…sorry, that was a bad joke,” said Steve with a nervous laugh. He hung his coat up and started unlacing his shoes. “Looks really clean in here—smells really clean too. Sorry I couldn’t help out.”

“You can owe me dinner,” replied Bucky. 

“Oh…food,” said Steve. “I forgot to go shopping.”

“I stocked up. I figured you’d eventually ask me to live with you so I had some money still squirreled away.” 

“Then I guess it’s only fair if I cook it,” said Steve with a smirk. The furniture they had in a storage shed was their next project, a project for another day. That left them with a bare apartment. Steve joined Bucky on the bare floor. “Where’re we gonna sleep?”

“I set us up a little pallet bed with our towels.”

Steve grinned a wide smile, and broke up into laughter that didn’t fit the mood Bucky thought was in the room. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know really,” said Steve as he wiped away tears. 

“You’re so fuckin’ weird,” laughed Bucky. 

 

 

 

Steve and a few of their friends from school were helping them move in while Bucky was at work. Steve insisted he be the one to do it since Bucky had cleaned every inch of the grime off the walls. It was technically a fair trade but Bucky made a living lifting heavy things. 

They hadn’t taken any measurements, if the furniture didn’t fit, it just didn’t fit and they’d hopefully make a few bucks off it. Bucky had his fingers crossed all morning hoping to God that the couch at least fit. He could live with no table, no chairs, no bed, he just wanted the couch. Somewhere to sit and listen to games. 

His walk home was long but Bucky found it eased his muscles to get a long walk in after a day of torture. He pictured the ice cold bath he’d get when he got home. Steve couldn’t handle them with his shitty lungs but Bucky could. They hurt at first but once the water warmed just a bit it was heaven for an aching body. And he was aching. 

“Hey! Barnes!” called someone on the opposite side of the street. Bucky’s whole body sagged thinking about having a conversation. 

He looked across the street to see Matthew Donovan negotiating through a few cars to get to him. “Hey,” replied Bucky. 

“I just got through shoving a couch through your doorway,” said Matthew. Bucky internally celebrated that small victory. “Where’ve you been.”

Bucky gestured to his grease-stained clothes. “Work.”

“Yeah work,” repeated Matthew dumbly. “So you’re livin’ with Steve again?”

“No, I just moved all my shit into his apartment,” snapped Bucky. 

“I wanted to hear it from you,” said Matthew. “Ya know, people talk.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky crossed his arms. “What do they say?”

“You know what they say.” Matthew wouldn’t say it but he didn’t shy away from Bucky’s eyes. For some reason that earned him Bucky’s respect. 

“What do you tell ‘em when they say that?”

“That they’re fuckin’ nuts,” laughed Matthew. “But we all have our questions, our doubts, you know?”

“What’re yours?”

Matthew stood his ground. He didn’t shift from foot to foot, didn’t stop staring Bucky dead in the eyes. “I got nothin’.”

“Good,” said Bucky. “There’s nothing to ask about.”

“I know…So now you’re settled into the place, now Steve’s old lady is buried, can we go out fishin’ or what?”

“Sure,” laughed Bucky. “You didn’t have to wait for all this to be through to go fishing you know.”

“Eh, it didn’t feel right.” 

As quickly as he’d cornered Bucky, he was gone. As was often the case with him. 

His thoughts shifted from the bath he’d have to the fight he could’ve had. If Matthew did have any real suspicions, Bucky wasn’t sure he could take him. In a regular fight, maybe. But if Matthew was indignant or fired up about anything, anything at all, there was a good chance he’d win and leave his victim with busted ribs. Bucky knew he couldn’t afford busted ribs any time soon. 

At very least, he had the truth on his side. Probably, anyway. Bucky stopped in front of their building and stared up at the window he knew was their’s, and wondered. Friends like them, friends as old as them, the line was bound to get blurred a few times. And throughout the years they’d blurred it their fair share of times. But the beach stood out. It couldn’t help it. 

The night Steve confessed it all, laid it all out on the table and told Bucky about every last impure urge and thought. He never got the chance to ask him about it. Steve got pneumonia that very night, and his mother followed soon after him. That was hardly the time to interrogate him over his feelings. At the time it was perfect. Back those few months, Bucky would’ve rather died than talked out everything strange between them. But now, with the dust settled, he wanted to ask, wanted to talk to Steve. Really talk, like they used to. 

 

 

 

“Ta-da!” screamed Steve when Bucky came through the door. “Everything is clearly made for a bigger apartment but it does all fit!”

He was right. The couches, the arm chairs, the little kitchen table. It was all very compact but it was a home. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Surprise, it’s heated up leftovers,” said Steve. 

“Do I got time for a bath?”

“Yes you do. I can’t really get the stove to heat up so it’ll be awhile.”

Without another word, Bucky trudged to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection while the cold water filled the tub. He had a bruise along his jaw from the way he balanced boxes on his shoulders. His hair was greasy and misplaced. He made no effort to tidy it, he just stared. Curious about who he was looking at. 

The older he got the less he knew about himself and in that moment he could’ve sworn he was looking at a stranger. A stranger with mixed and muddled feelings for his best friend. He wanted to ask Steve if he meant what he said, really meant it. He wanted to tell Steve that he meant it too. But he couldn’t be sure Steve did mean it, couldn’t be sure if he meant it either. 

The cold water didn’t clear it up for him. He sat, shivering then breathing deep enough to lull himself to sleep. Doing his best to explain himself to himself and getting nowhere. 

“Hey” said Steve as he burst through the door. “I got you some warm water.”

Bucky snapped out of his daydream and pulled his legs to his chest. Steve emptied the pot of warm water by Bucky’s feet, hoping not to burn him. 

“Thanks, Steve,” said Bucky blankly. 

Steve cocked his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just a little tired.”

“Okay,” Steve didn’t believe him, Bucky could tell. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. It’s bad.”

Bucky laughed. “I’ll be out soon.”

 

 

 

Steve was done and drawing on the fire escape when Bucky finally got out of the bath. He meandered to the kitchen to find the lukewarm stew waiting for him on the little kitchen table. He brought it with him to the fire escape. Steve didn’t flinch when Bucky got out there with him and draped his legs over the side. 

“Need me to name a constellation?” said Bucky between mouthfuls.

“Not tonight,” replied Steve, not looking up from his book. 

“So Steve,” began Bucky. He’d barely formed the sentence in his head but his heart was preparing to give out. “I wanted to talk to you about—“

Steve interrupted him with what Bucky thought was a cough but soon realized was a sob. Bucky could see the tracks of his tears from his cheeks to his sketchbook. A half-rendered face was smudged and smeared on his page.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” 

“I…” began Steve. He steadied his shaky voice with a deep breath. As deep as his lungs would allow anyway. “I can’t remember what she looked like.”

“What do you mean? Steve, we’ve got pictures of her everywhere—” 

“I shouldn’t have to look at those!” screamed Steve. “I shouldn’t need to look at a photo to remember what my mom looked like, Buck!”

He devolved from there. Bucky kept an arm around him and listened to the words Steve choked out. They never formed sentences but Bucky listened to them all and let Steve fall apart. The month and a bit of Steve’s supposed recovery, he never cried. Originally Bucky assumed he was holding it in. The longer it went though, he figured Steve just wasn’t going to cry. Now he felt foolish for ever thinking he didn’t need this. 

“It’ll be alright,” muttered Bucky. He’d said that before through all of this, but this time he said it with some confidence that he might be telling the truth. “We’ll be alright.”

Steve took his time gathering himself, Bucky didn’t mind. He’d hold Steve for as long as he needed. It took awhile, but the crying stopped, the pain ebbed, Steve just leaned into Bucky and stared out onto their little view of the city. 

“I miss her,” said Steve suddenly, his voice still hoarse. 

“I know,” replied Bucky. “That’s good.”

“Buck, while I’m already so…pathetic,” laughed Steve, “I just wanted to thank you for movin’ in with me. I wasn’t ready, I’m still not ready, to be so alone like that. I still need you.”

“You could’ve managed without me,” said Bucky. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder. 

“I could’ve, I guess. But without you what’s the point?” said Steve. 

“I didn’t move in here as a favor,” said Bucky. “I didn’t want to leave you. I was waitin’ all month for you to ask me to move in.”

Steve wiped his cheeks and sat up. He broke a smile when Bucky prodded him for one. He’d ask him about the beach, about his feelings another night. Tonight he wanted to be sad about his mother and Bucky’d be right there with him. 

 

 

 

Steve made breakfast, while Bucky got dressed every morning. His shift was an hour later than Bucky’s but Bucky woke him when his alarm went off. So Steve started making them breakfast. They split the paper while they ate. Bucky took sports, Steve took world events. 

Their routines were so domestic, so quaint, Bucky found himself falling in love with their life. It was so perfect, so neatly tied up that the thought of making even the slightest of waves was out of the question. He could live his life unsure of Steve’s feelings if it meant they could stay like this forever. 

“I guess I’ll bring Marnie,” said Bucky. 

“Why don’t you ask anyone down to Coney Island anymore?” asked Steve. “I know it’s a little weird to be on a double date with me and your sister, but bringing Marnie is like bringing your cousin.”

“She’s our friend, I like her, she’s fun.” Bucky shook the paper to stiffen it. “What’s the point inviting someone I don’t know I’ll like when Marnie, who I already like, wants to go?”

“Just thought you’d want a real date again eventually,” replied Steve. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”

“I like it like that,” said Bucky. “These days anyway.”

“Suit yourself.”

 

 

 

“Come on Buck, aim!” teased Marnie. Bucky threw another ring, hoping to snag the stuffed monkey. He missed again, just barely. 

“It’s all rigged,” said Bucky in defeat. Just then Marnie’s ring circled down the monkey. 

“Rigged huh?”

“I loosened it up for you,” said Bucky. The attendant gave Marnie her monkey, she gave it to Bucky with a kiss on his cheek. 

Steve and Rebecca were off on the ferris wheel. Being on that wheel with Marnie became boring quick with nothing to do so they opted out. Since Marnie won him the monkey, Bucky bought them both some saltwater taffy. They sat on the only empty bench and started scraping together their quarters for another game. 

“How’s your apartment?” asked Marnie. “Is it enough space?”

“It’s enough. I’d tell you to come visit but you wouldn’t fit,” laughed Bucky. “But really, it’s good. Steve’s doin’ real well I think.”

“That’s good to hear… Are you doin’ good too?”

“What makes you think I’m anything but perfect?”

“Two a you haven’t been to mass in a couple weeks. Doubt you’ve confessed in the last year. Doubt you’ve prayed in the last year. I worry about you,” said Marnie. 

“I’ve done enough praying for one lifetime,” said Bucky with a grin, hoping that would end the conversation. 

“You know,” began Marnie, “guys like you,” she dropped her voice down to a whisper, “God’s not angry over it. Least I don’t think so.”

“Guys like me?” muttered Bucky. 

“Yeah,” said Marnie. “I don’t know how much of it I believe anymore, I’m probably as bad as you when it comes to my prayers. But the people there still love you, and you don’t come down and see ‘em very often anymore. I just wanted you to know you’re more than welcome.”

“You think I’m some kinda way?” said Bucky. 

Marnie laughed. “I know you’re some kinda way.”

“What makes you so sure?” He needed to know what defined it for her. He needed someone to help him put his finger on it. 

“Maybe I got a sixth sense about these thing,” said Marnie with a shrug. “Alls I know is you look at him like he’s the sun and the moon and the tides and the earth all wrapped into one.”

“Do I really?” Bucky couldn’t help smiling. It must’ve been the few beers he had earlier that let him just talk. Not panic and spend the night denying the truth, just talk.

“I used to be so jealous, so jealous. I cried over it for days. But once I realized I couldn’t change it, no one could…once I healed up a little, it became endearing.”

“You know me better than I ever know me. You’re always one step ahead of who I think I am.”

“You could be too if you ever got out of your own head,” teased Marnie. “Have you told Steve?”

Bucky choked on his drunken laughter. “I haven’t even told myself.”

Marnie looked at him with a sad smile, there was pity in her eyes. “Buck…”

“I like what I’ve got,” said Bucky. “Why fuck with it?”

“This is the curse.” Marnie leaned on him. “You’re always in your own damn way.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” muttered Bucky into her hair. 

A few beers later, they reunited with Steve and Rebecca. And still more beers later they wandered down to the water. Though they could never be sure if the cold ocean water caused Steve’s pneumonia, Steve was convinced it had and only went in the water these days if someone dragged him. So he and Bucky sat in the dark sand and watched Marnie and Rebecca chase the tides. 

Steve dug his fingers under the sand deep, Bucky did the same. 

“You doin’ alright?” asked Bucky.

Steve nodded. “What were you an Marns talking about when we found you? Seemed so solemn.”

“Nothin’,” replied Bucky. He dug his hands deeper in the sand. He paused briefly when he felt something decidedly not sand. 

“Is that your hand?” laughed Steve.

“I guess,” replied Bucky. He brushed his hand against Steve’s, deep under the sand, to confirm. Steve did it back. They didn’t pull them away, they let their cold hands stay just barely brushed up against the other’s. “Marnie mentioned how we haven’t been to mass in a few weeks.”

Steve sighed. “You wanna start going?”

Bucky knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to talk to God on his own terms. There was a lot he didn’t understand, a lot he knew he’d never understand. But what he did know was that God was playing tricks on him and the church had never helped with that. When he prayed for a cure he found none, when he prayed for answers he found none, so why bother showing up. 

But he wouldn’t tell Steve that. “Do you?”

Steve shrugged. “Got nothin’ better to do I guess…Sometimes I wonder though…if they’ve got it right. You know you live and learn and sometimes I think maybe they’ve got some stuff wrong. And who knows what else might be wrong ya know?”

“What stuff?” said Bucky, knowing what he hoped Steve would say. Knowing he wanted Steve to see the same cracks he saw. Wanted Steve to talk to him about the night on the beach where he told him everything and how that night was the truth. Fuck everything else, because that night was the truth and those words were Bucky’s new gospel. Those words of love and obsession and passion and dedication, as uncomfortable and scared as they’d both been in the moment, those words wrapped around Bucky day in and day out and he wanted Steve to say he was thinking the same thing.

Steve turned to look at him. Their eyes locked in a strange silence. Steve was opaque again, unreadable and unknowable. And he knew Steve thought the same of him as they stared at each other. Both too afraid to begin the difficult conversation that started years ago and ended there at the beach. 

“We should head back!” said Marnie as she and Rebecca returned from the edge of the water. Steve ripped his hand from the sand.

Steve and Bucky sat on either side of Marnie and Rebecca on their train ride home, and they stayed apart when Marnie and Rebecca got off. 

 

 

 

“Fireworks or Matthew’s party?” said Bucky the night of the 4th. 

“I guess we should do Matthew’s right,” replied Steve. “I mean we did say we’d go.”

“It’s your birthday! You gotta do exactly what you wanna do and nothin’ else okay,” insisted Bucky.

“Well…I guess we could see the show and then go to Matthew’s right?” said Steve

“That’s what I thought,” said Bucky, picnic blanket already in his arms. 

They were by far the oldest people there aside from parents. Bucky’d long since stopped caring about that. The fireworks show was for him and Steve and he didn’t care if the only other people there were little kids and their tired parents. Steve laid out on the picnic blanket while Bucky, as per tradition, bought them two popsicles, giving Steve the better flavor.

“Can’t believe they put on such a show for your birthday,” said Bucky. 

Steve coughed out a laugh and took a bite of the popsicle. “Every year you make that joke, I can’t believe I still laugh at it.”

Bucky grinned up at the multicolored sky as another explosion lit the sky. “What joke? You mean to tell me this show isn’t just for you?”

Steve turned his head to rolled his eyes at Bucky, Bucky turned his head to give him the satisfaction of a successful eye roll. Steve looked so soft in the moonlight, smooth and touchable. Bucky returned his gaze to the sky and kept it there for the night. The popsicle, forgotten, melted in his hand. 

Bucky could ask him, could beg him to lay it all out, right then and there. And Steve could whisper it up to the sky and they could pretend they didn’t hear it if they had to. But he said nothing.

And he said nothing on the trek to Matthew Donovan’s little townhouse he and Marcus shared. It was a short walk full of mindless small talk about what they should expect once inside. It was Matthew, they knew to expect a mess if not a disaster. 

Matthew greeted them at the door with a big drunken grin and shoved drinks into their hands as soon as the door shut behind them. Bucky sniffed his to identify it then decided he didn’t really care what it was as long it got him off. He downed it quick and scanned the room to see who he knew. He did a double take when he saw a familiar blonde head of hair in a familiar blue dress. Lara. 

He hadn’t seen her since the funeral, and even then he hadn’t spoken to her. She stood talking to Marnie and Rebecca. Steve made his way over to kiss Rebecca hello, Bucky winced at that and downed the rest of his drink. It burned all the way down and had him searching for a refill as he avoided Lara’s gaze.

He found Matthew for conversation instead. Matthew clapped him too hard on the back as he poured his refill. “How’s the birthday boy?”

“He’s good,” replied Bucky. 

“Rebecca said the two a yous went to see the fireworks. Said she only had him for ‘birthday lunch’,” said Matthew with a choked laugh. 

It was rare for Bucky to have a conversation that wasn’t about how he defined his relationship with Steve. Everyone wanted to know why they spent so much time together, why they lived together, how Rebecca felt about it, how it all came to pass. And there was no answer that would satisfy them. 

“What of it?” spat back Bucky. 

Matthew’s grin kept spreading across his face. “You’re not tellin’ me something.”

“I’ve told everyone everything. It’s just not as interesting and taboo as they want it to be,” replied Bucky.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” said Matthew. “But I’m not stupid okay? Don’t treat me like I am.”

“You’re drunk,” said Bucky dismissively.

“So what?” chuckled Matthew. “I’ve known you long enough to know what’s going on.”

“And what do you think that is?” said Bucky, puffing his chest out. He’d never tried to fight Matthew drunk, he wasn’t sure if he was better or worse when drunk. God he was praying for worse. 

Matthew stood up straight and set his drink down. “What’re you gonna do, hit me?”

“I’m not gonna just sit and take this shit. If you’re spreadin’ rumors about how I’m some kind of—“

“Get over yourself,” scoffed Matthew. “I got better things to talk about than your sex life. And fuck you for thinkin’ I’d go yammering about something like this to anyone. Somethin’ that could get you killed, you think I’d fuckin’ tell a soul that huh? Known you longer than Steve has and that’s what you think ‘a me?”

Bucky didn’t know what he looked like, what expression he wore. It sounded like acceptance almost. And he didn’t know how to take that from Matthew. And now he’d painted himself into a corner and the only way out was an apology which came with a sort of confession. A confirmation that what Matthew thought about him was true.

“I’m sorry,” choked out Bucky. “I—It’s not true, obviously,” he added quickly as if it would convince either of them. “But since his mom died people just keep talkin’ that shit about us.”

“I know,” said Matthew. “You know how many fights I’ve started and ended defending your precious virtue?” He laughed with that, a joking, teasing laugh that told Bucky he wasn’t mad anymore.

“You been shutting people up?” 

Matthew nodded. “You don’t have to tell me what’s goin’ on, it ain’t my business. But either way, we can’t let people think that ‘a you. Steve’s already a target.”

“Nothin’s goin’ on,” said Bucky, putting away the last of his drink. “I swear— You and Marcus live together and no one says shit about it but—“

“What’s the point in fightin’ it Buck?” said Matthew strangely soberly. “You know it won’t go away. I got a cousin like you, you think she hasn’t tried damn near everything to get it gone? It don’t go away. You’re gonna waste a lot of your life trying to cure yourself when you ain’t sick.”

Bucky stared at Matthew who stared back. Usually Bucky’s glares could force his opponent to at very least look away. But he’d never been a match for Matthew. He saw right through him no matter what and he’d never been afraid of Bucky. He kept his eyes locked on Bucky’s as he downed the last of his whiskey. 

“Refill?” said Matthew. “You look like you’re gonna need it.”

Bucky held out his empty glass for Matthew who popped the cork from the bottle and poured. Slow and steady to ensure he didn’t spill any in his drunken state. Bucky had nothing left to say. His standard statements of denial came to mind but they would be pointless on Matthew. 

And more than that he wanted those strange words of acceptance to stay with him. The one kid on the block he couldn’t take was Matthew. For Matthew to be on his side, no question, felt strange. 

“Can I ask something?” said Matthew.

“If you do it quietly,” replied Bucky.

“You ever look at me like that?” said Matthew, his eyes confidently glued to Bucky’s.

Bucky awkwardly shifted from foot to foot and laughed. “What’re you…”

“You know what I mean, I just wanna know,” said Matthew with a playful nudge to his arm. 

Admitting he’d once had a wet dream about him would just get him kicked out of any fishing trips in the future. “Of course not, that’s disgusting,” laughed Bucky.

“Wow! You didn’t need to add the ‘of course’, leave me some dignity,” laughed Matthew.

Bucky rolled his eyes and sipped the cheap whiskey in his glass. 

“Oh, Lara’s here, in case you wanna make yourself scarce,” said Matthew before putting the bottle in Bucky’s arms and walking off. 

Bucky turned to watch where he was so fervently headed and spun right into Lara. No wonder Matthew thought to mention her. 

“Hey,” squeaked Bucky. 

“Hi,” said Lara into her cup. “How’ve you been? You doing alright?”’

“Seen better days. But Steve’s doin’ good,” said Bucky. God this was why she broke up with him, he brought Steve up whenever he had the chance. That same thought appeared to cross her mind as well. 

“I heard you two share an apartment,” said Lara. “That’s what Marnie told me anyway.”

“Yeah, a few blocks over. It’s shit,” laughed Bucky. 

“Just you two huh…” said Lara. 

“Yeah…Like how Matthew and Marcus live here, alone together. We’re roommates,” said Bucky with venom lacing his words. He’d had this argument before and he wasn’t eager to have it again while he was drunk and not terribly eloquent.

“So he and Rebecca are doing well it seems,” said Lara, knowing that would sting. They’d also had that argument once where she accused him of wanting to be with Rebecca because of how jealous he obviously was. Bucky told her that was a repugnant thought and he didn’t want to be with his fucking sister. Which meant…well they all knew what it meant so they ended that shouting match early.

“I’m happy for them,” said Bucky. He didn’t sound convincing, probably because he didn’t mean it. “You with anyone these days?”

“No, I spend most of my free time with Marnie,” said Lara with a little laugh.

“So you’ll hang around Marnie but you’re too good for the rest of us?” said Bucky. Despite all of the complications and hurt feelings, Bucky still liked her. There was a reason he thought, through her, he might love a woman. And it hurt that she drifted away from them.

“It’s not easy to see you,” said Lara. He knew she’d only let that slip because of the drink in her hand. 

“Gets easier the more you do it,” said Bucky hopefully.

She smiled at him and then into her drink. “I really did love you, Bucky.”

“And I—“

“Don’t patronize me,” said Lara with a mirthless laugh. “I’m not blind. I just wish I would’ve seen it sooner.”

Maybe it was the whiskey, but maybe it was his patience. Maybe he was just at the end of his fucking rope and tired of everyone making assumptions. Tired of them making the correct assumptions and acting like he’d done it on purpose to hurt them. Tommy, Lara, Rebecca, Marnie. The few people that knew, or thought they knew, they all felt it so personally. He wouldn’t have said it then if he hadn’t been drinking, but he would’ve said it eventually.

“You know Lara,” Bucky put away the shot in his glass. He’d done his fair share of shots but he could already feel that drinking whiskey like that was a mistake. “When it all started for me, I spent most of my time with you or confessing and doin’ aves in the middle of the night. And being with you didn’t help, and praying didn’t help, and punching walls didn’t help, and sitting in an empty bath and crying didn’t help. Nothin’ helped. So I don’t know why you’re goin’ around actin’ like I did this on purpose just to hurt you. I did my damnedest to fix it for you.”

It felt like vomiting. There was a lot of nausea and discomfort leading up to those feelings he’d just unloaded on Lara, but once they were out he felt much better, lighter too. But now he had a mess to clean up. 

“I…” began Lara, her eyes fluttering with uncertainty for what she’d say next. “I’m sorry…I never…I know it must have been difficult for you to find that out about yourself I…” She shook her head. “We should really have this conversation sober.”

Bucky coughed and nodded. “Does that mean you’ll stand to be seen with me sober?”

She smirked and nodded. 

“Wonder what they’re talking about,” said Lara. Bucky followed her line of sight to Marnie and Steve. Steve wouldn’t stop swaying while Marnie talked, and Marnie looked like she was either giving him the hard sell on a new set of kitchen knives, or arguing with him. Steve said something, Marnie said something a bit louder but Bucky couldn’t hear. And Steve pushed her. Not hard but enough for her to retaliate. She pushed him back, he stumbled back. Marnie paid him no mind and strode away from Steve and towards Lara. 

“What was all that?” said Lara as Marnie got into ear shot. She rolled her eyes and waved the question away with her hand before settling between Lara and Bucky, an arm on each of their shoulders. 

“Think he’s gonna yak,” muttered Marnie in his ear. Bucky looked around confused for who or what she was talking about and spotted Steve stumbling up the narrow staircase.

“How much did he have?” replied Bucky. 

“Not much but, I mean, it’s Steve,” said Marnie into her drink with a roll of her eyes. “Fuckin’ lightweight.” 

“Guess I better go check on him,” sighed Bucky.

He swayed but caught himself on the loose banister before hurling himself up the steps. He found Steve in one of the bedrooms, not clutching the toilet bowl in the hall bathroom. He was sat on the bed, staring at nothing in particular between the floorboards in nothing but moonlight. 

“Hey,” said Bucky. Steve didn’t look up.

“Hey,” croaked Steve.

Bucky stifled a laugh and sat next to him. The bed creaked and groaned. If it was possible, it felt worse than the cot Bucky slept on. “Why’d you come up here?”

“Didn’t wanna talk to Marnie,” said Steve.

Bucky clenched his jaw. “What was she sayin’?”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ important, just didn’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re not usually in the market of shoving girls, much less Marnie,” said Bucky.

“It wasn’t hard,” said Steve sheepishly. “I…she just wouldn’t shut up.”

“About what?” whispered Bucky. Steve stayed silent.

“Look at me.” Without the shots settling in his stomach, Bucky wouldn’t have said that. And if it weren’t for the shots in Steve, he wouldn’t have met his eyes. 

The bed squeaked loud and metallic as the springs shifted under Bucky when he scooted closer and left no space between them. Steve’s eyes wanted to close, but he wouldn’t let them, like he was still unsure where it was going. Bucky had that same feeling of uncertainty. Surely, _surely_ this could all only mean one thing but what if it didn’t. What if he leaned in and Steve shoved him away. What if it was all just his perverted mind making him see what he wanted to.

“Hey…What’s goin’ on…” said Matthew in the doorway. 

Without any booze, Bucky would’ve shot up and got as much distance between him and Steve as he could. But in that moment, he just turned to face Matthew. 

“Nothin’,” replied Bucky.

Matthew wasn’t fooled. “I…Why don’t you two head out. You’ve had enough.”

“I said nothin’ was goin’ on!” barked Bucky. Matthew’s words from earlier ‘I’m not stupid, don’t treat me like I am’ echoed in his brain. And it clearly read on Matthew’s face that he wasn’t buying what Bucky tried to sell him.

“Yeah sure, I _can’t_ cut the tension in here with a knife. Either way, yous outta head out, it’s,” he paused to check his watch, “3am and if you hang around much longer I’ll have you two helping me get the cigarette ash outta the carpet. Go on, go enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Bucky began to protest, to defend himself. But Steve interrupted the few stuttered attempts at a sentence he’d made.

“That’s a good idea,” said Steve. He stood and stretched. 

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off of Matthew. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was it indifference, approval, anger? Maybe he’d only support Bucky until now when he saw behind the curtain a bit. Maybe this was enough to change his mind and get him back on the opposing side that was running the rumor mill about him. Was he going to wake up tomorrow to Matthew shooting his windows out with his BB gun or did he just want them out? He might’ve deciphered it if he could’ve stared at Matthew’s odd expression all night but Steve yanked him off the bed and pulled him towards the door.

They said quick goodbyes to their drunken friends and hurried out. They walked home with their hands deep in their pockets and not a word said between them. Bucky looked over his shoulder occasionally to see if Matthew followed them out with a bat. When they finally got back to their apartment, Bucky triple checked the locks and shook the doorknob just to be sure no one was getting in without them hearing it.

He knew, consciously, Matthew wouldn’t send over a hoard to kill him in his sleep, but the thought of anyone at all knowing his biggest secret was enough for him to lock all of the locks. 

“What’re you so panicked about, we got nothin’ good to steal,” said Steve. Bucky didn’t pay attention, just focused on sliding the chain lock. 

Steve walked into the kitchen, Bucky heard the sharp clanking of glass as Steve’s tipsy hands fumbled around the cabinets. Bucky joined him in the kitchen and helped him grab the whiskey bottle he was reaching for. But Bucky poured for them. Not too much but something told him they needed to talk tonight. And God knew they’d never get a word out until they got a little drunker.

“I’m not gonna stand and drink,” said Bucky. He moved out of the kitchen to the living room where he fell into the couch. Steve joined him instantly. Bucky couldn’t stand the silence, he flicked on their shitty radio and turned the knob until he heard music. Soft and jazzy and not at all either of their tastes but it was noise and it was filling the silence and easing the tension. 

“Buck,” said Steve suddenly, “do you think we’re weird?”

“No,” replied Bucky earnestly. He turned to Steve to see him staring straight ahead out of the window, his face blank and his eyes glassy.

“I think we’re weird,” said Steve. He took a sip of his whiskey. “I think we’re very weird.”

“Everyone’s weird,” said Bucky. “This is our type of weird.”

“That’s what Marnie said, she said it’s weird how we live.”

“She did?” That didn’t sound like Marnie. But she had been drunk and there was a good chance she said something she hadn’t meant. Then again it was more likely she said something she very much had meant but couldn’t find the strength to vocalize. 

“Do you know anyone like us?” said Steve, turning to Bucky briefly but looking away when they made eye contact. 

“Plenty of guys live together, Steve,” huffed Bucky. 

“But do they live like us?” repeated Steve. 

“And how exactly do we live?” 

Steve fell silent and took another swig of his drink, Bucky did the same. It was the cheap shit and it hurt going down but God at least it was some kind of distraction from the conversation. He didn’t want to have it, and he knew Steve didn’t want to have it but they were having it. Bucky hated prodding old wounds, he preferred to pretend they never happened and ignore the scars they left. But this one was necessary. He and Steve couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room much longer, not in their tiny apartment.

“Steve, do you love Rebecca?” said Bucky. His own voice sounded foreign to him as he spoke over the quiet music.

“What?” 

“Rebecca. My baby sister, the girl you’re with, ringing any bells? Do you love her?” spat Bucky.

“Of course I love her,” answered Steve quickly and genuinely. 

“Yeah…but are you in love with her?” said Bucky. Steve didn’t answer quickly this time. Bucky turned to look at him. He shook his head solemnly, as if he was committing some great crime. “Then why are you still with her?”

Steve scoffed. “This is funny to you?” spat Bucky.

“It’s not funny but it’s obvious,” said Steve. “I’m with her because…she’s a decoy. Don’t get me wrong she’s one of my closest friends and I love her but I’m with her because she plays the part well.”

“Decoy?” said Bucky. “Decoy for what?”

Steve scoffed again. “You know exactly what for. For everything I said that night at the beach.” Steve never looked at him, instead he downed the rest of his drink.

“So you meant all that? Everything you said?” Bucky turned completely to face Steve who remained rigid and forward facing.

“Yeah I meant it.”

“And you don’t wanna try and take it back?” offered Bucky. 

Then Steve turned to him. “Do you want me to take it back?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, a brief moment. “No…No I don’t want you to take it back.”

And they stared at each other. Steve looked so overly contemplative, he always thought too hard about too much. Bucky downed the rest of his drink while Steve stared into the middle distance between them. And he put a hand on Steve’s arm as he scooted just a bit closer to him. 

“Here,” he whispered as he pressed their lips together. A bit sloppy, a bit more drunken than he thought he’d be, but it got his point across. Bucky had crossed a lot of lines with Steve, and yet, somehow he’d never had his tongue against Steve’s. But it felt right at home there. He felt Steve’s awkward, bony hand touch and then hesitantly rest on Bucky’s knee. Bucky in turn let his hand fall from Steve’s bicep down to his waist. 

“What’s going on?” whispered Steve against Bucky’s lips. Bucky had no answer for him and it didn’t seem as if Steve was really looking for one. 

Bucky traced his hand gently up Steve’s shirt and back down his back. Steve sighed into his mouth and confidently rested a hand on Bucky’s hip. Bucky broke their kiss, momentarily to heave his jacket across the room. Steve started popping the buttons on his shirt, Bucky helped him. Their lips connected again while they put in a joint effort to rid Steve of his shirt. Once it was finally gone, Bucky laid him down. He let the weight of his pelvis fully rest on Steve and ground down gently but firmly. And he could feel how hard Steve was, and he knew Steve could feel how hard he was. But the only confirmation he got was Steve’s breathy moan that he choked back immediately.

Could’ve been weeks could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes but the rest of their clothes came off. Bucky didn’t remember how each article left him, he only noticed they were gone when a rare breeze found its way through their poorly insulated apartment.

It was then, with Steve bare beneath him on the couch, that Bucky realized he didn’t know what he should do. He’d been with women and women only up until now and the only thing he knew men like him did was not something he was prepared to jump into drunk and unexpectedly. So he sucked another hickey onto Steve’s collarbone as he started wondering what his next move would be. 

The answer came to him when he rocked his hips against Steve’s and got a moan in response and shy ‘more’. He obliged and rolled his hips against Steve while his tongue invaded his mouth again. At some point Steve’s hand reached down between their chests grabbed both of their cocks. Steve let out a fairly masculine but breathy moan at the feeling of both his hand and Bucky pressed tight against him. Bucky, so stunned was he at the feeling of so much of Steve, squeaked in a higher pitch than he thought was possible. Steve failed to hold back a laugh when Bucky let out that feminine squeal. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh with him. It was easier from there. Once they laughed they didn’t have to pretend they were confident or sure of themselves, they could just explore.

And they did. Bucky kept his hips moving in time with Steve’s hand. He tried to keep most of his weight off of Steve but faltered occasionally and muttered apologies when he did but Steve wouldn’t hear them. Bucky’s hands were busy keeping him from crushing Steve so his mouth did the adventuring and sucked dark marks onto Steve anywhere he could. Steve returned the favor with the addition of bite marks embedded in his shoulder.

Steve’s moaned quicker and higher pitched and Bucky knew he needed to give him something, more friction, more speed, more pressure, something to bring on the orgasm Steve was desperately trying to rip from his own body. Bucky couldn’t find the magic combination of those things however. He breathed a few apologies into Steve’s ear when he fell out of rhythm with Steve’s hand and they had to awkwardly correct. 

‘Please, Buck,” whined Steve. 

“What do you want me to do?” replied Bucky, a little panicked.

“God—Buck, do it _more_ ,” breathed Steve, letting go of the their cocks and digging his heels into Bucky’s ass, forcing him down. Bucky didn’t miss a beat and ground down hard and fast against Steve who whined, God he actually whined, and wrapped his arms around Bucky. His fingernails dug and scratched deep into Bucky’s back. It hurt like hell but Bucky knew the marks he was leaving on Steve weren’t exactly pleasant either. 

He pulled away from Steve’s collarbone to kiss his swollen lips. But when he did he got a good look at Steve’s face in the orange glow of their living room. Steve’s cheeks were damp, and Bucky could see more tears forming under Steve’s heavy lashes. His hips paused their ministrations and Steve opened his eyes.

“Don’t stop—” began Steve.

“What’s wrong?” said Bucky. 

Steve stared at him for a moment. He wiped his cheeks roughly and pulled Bucky in for a deep, obscene kiss that melted them both a little more. “I’m okay, keep going,” commanded Steve.

“You’re sure—” 

“I’m sure, I’m so close, _please_ ,” whispered Steve. 

Bucky caught Steve’s lips with his own and continued. Harder and faster according to Steve’s moans and pleas. His moans got more desperate, and no matter what Bucky did the tears kept flowing. Bucky wasn’t even sure Steve would finish like this. His own orgasm was fast approaching but not matter how many times Steve assured him he was almost there, he never came. He wanted, so desperately, not to come first. But quicker than Steve, he felt his own orgasm waiting in the wings. He bit Steve’s neck and shamefully admitted he was almost done. 

“That’s okay,” panted Steve.

“God, baby, I’m gonna come,” choked Bucky against the shell of Steve’s ear.

“Do it, I’m almost there,” replied Steve.

“No, Steve, I’m really about to—” began Bucky when he was interrupted by Steve seizing underneath him. And Steve fell completely silent for a moment or two as Bucky’s hips moved against him. He could feel Steve painting their chests. The few moments of silence were broken by a choked and throaty moan right in Bucky’s ear. It devolved into a whimper. Steve whimpering like that in his ear was enough. He let out staccato moans, hoping to keep a little quiet for the neighbors and failing. He bit Steve’s shoulder and tried, and once again failed, to shut himself up. Steve’s thighs clinging tight and warm to his hips shifted suddenly from the turn-on they’d been seconds earlier to a much needed comfort.

He’d been careful not to rest too much of his weight on Steve, but right then he let himself cover Steve and come down from his high. He could feel the mess their made between their chests but he didn’t care. He begged his mind to focus, to remember just how good Steve’s legs felt on his hips, his arms around his shoulders, his hands tracing little drawings on his back, his panting in his ear. God it felt like home.

With their breath caught, their hearts no longer racing, Bucky pressed kisses to Steve’s shoulder and collarbone, then up his neck until his met his mouth. 

“Are you okay?” whispered Bucky against his lips.

“Mhm,” replied Steve.

“Why the tears?” Bucky pulled away enough to look in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” said Steve. Bucky could hear the sincerity in his voice. He kissed him again with a newfound chasteness. It was slow though, and Bucky savored it not knowing when he’d get the chance to do that again.

The mantle clock on their shelf struck for 4:30. Bucky and Steve both had work the next morning, in a matter of hours. Bucky sighed and sat up, Steve’s thighs still wrapped around his hips. 

“We should sleep,” said Bucky. Steve nodded. They unentangled themselves and didn’t bother collecting their clothes before wandering into their bedroom. Bucky got a warm washcloth to clean their chests off and they slipped quickly into shirts and shorts and then bed. 

Despite it all, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to wrap his arm around Steve in bed that night. It was easy to kiss him, to undress him, to lay him down and do…much more to him. Hell it was even easy to assert himself and climb into Steve’s bed rather than his own cot. But to reach over and hold Steve felt like he was crossing an even more sacred line between the two of them.

“Buck?” whispered Steve no more than ten minutes after they climbed into bed. Steve was on his side, his back facing Bucky. Bucky could pretend to be asleep if he really wanted. 

“Yeah, Steve?” said Bucky after a few beats of silence.

“Can you…” began Steve. His voice trailed off. 

“Can I what?” prompted Bucky, suddenly hyperaware of what all he’d do for Steve if he just asked. 

Steve sighed and reached back with his hand and felt around blindly by Bucky’s knees up to his hips, to his elbow and back down to his wrist. Steve grabbed his wrist and pulled it across himself like a blanket. He pressed Bucky’s hand firmly to his own chest and curled into the contact. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” whispered Bucky into Steve’s hair as he scooted close enough for Steve to lean into him fully. He held him tight and secure and Steve ran his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand, only slowing as he began to drift off.

It was mere minutes before they were both sleeping.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Sorry it took me so long to update but I had a lot of work pile up and unfortunately this didn't take priority over those. Thank you for the wonderful comments they really keep me going! Hope you enjoy!

 

“So, her dad’s there, he looks ready to kill me—“ said Dobbs.

“If only he had,” added Bucky absentmindedly. Dobbs stories about his senior high sexual conquests were getting old. They’d been interesting the first month of bootcamp, but even that was pushing it.

“Oh I’m sorry. Not every fuckin’ story we tell can be your weird ass soliloquies about how you’re cursed and how your mom’s a cunt or whatever,” spat Dobbs.

“Soliloquy? Wow, big word Dobbs,” teased Randalls. 

Snipers had to get up earlier than the lot, they had an extra half mile of running to do to get to their shooting range in the morning, longer days, shorter meals, but they cleaned their guns alone. Bucky found solace in that. Just the small group of them allowed some peace while they dissembled and polished and reassembled their rifles. It was one of the few times Bucky felt a more human side to the strange camaraderie that formed between all of the recruits out of necessity.

“I’m a well read man. Me saying ‘soliloquy’ shouldn’t surprise you,” said Dobbs.

“Spell soliloquy,” replied Randalls.

Dobbs replied with a simple, “fuck you.”

The men couldn’t help laugh at him. Dobbs was never one to laugh at himself though. 

“You heard about Carter?” said Stevenson. 

“Heard what?” said Lewandowski. They rolled their eyes in unison. His obsession with Carter may have peaked while she was still training them but even with her gone he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about her. Stevenson seemed to remember that too late and looked regretful that he’d brought her up. “She comin’ back?”

“No,” sighed Stevenson. “I just heard the reason she was here was to recruit someone. Some big top secret mission or something. Very hush hush.”

“Couldn’t be that hush hush if you know,” said Randalls.

“Or maybe I’m just very sneaky.” Stevenson spun his barrel back onto the butt of his rifle. “I only heard cause apparently she’s comin’ back here to get whoever they picked for this thing.”

“You said she wasn’t comin’ back—“ interjected Lewandowski.

“I don’t know if she’s coming personally,” snapped Stevenson. “Just that MI6 is gonna scoop one of us and take us to Hitler’s next garden party or something.”

“Who do you think’s goin’?” said Dobbs. They looked around at each other in silence. Who was the smartest, who was the most obedient, who was a born leader, who was the best shot, who was in the best shape. None of them fit all of the criteria, none of them stood out as the clear choice for whatever top secret mission Carter needed doing. 

Bucky tried to pick one, one of them he could stand to see gone. Lewandowski was the clear choice but he was obviously not getting selected for a special mission. Bucky hoped to God it wasn’t Randalls. He had two comforts left in the world. One was his letters from home, the other was Randalls. If he lost either he’d go insane. But as he looked around he realized, he didn’t want any of them gone. Even Dobbs, who still had a scarred cheek from when Bucky clawed him, he couldn’t part with. He wondered if that was the intention. Keeping them cooped up together, forcing them to wordlessly bond so they’d fight better, protect each other more out of necessity.

“I think this is a good chance for us to have a shred of fun before we get sent to Hell,” said Stevenson. “I say we bet on it.”

“How much?” said Dobbs.

Stevenson shrugged. “How much you wanna put down.”

“I’ll put my life savings on Barnes goin,” said Lewandowski.

“What?” said Randalls with a bit of a stammer. “Why?”

“He’s the best shot, and apparently he’s cursed so—”

“That bullshit again—Put my life savings down on Randalls—” interrupted Dobbs.

“Hey—” interrupted Randalls.

“You’re the second best shot and I’d do anything to prove Barnes and that fuckin’ curse wrong,” said Dobbs

The odds were against Bucky as every sniper aside from Randalls and Dobbs put money down that he’d be the one chosen. Stevenson at very least placed his bet with a quiet apology. Randalls put money on Dobbs to return the favor but he could tell Randalls also thought it’d be him. They all said it was because he was the best shot and had yet to cause a fuss on base. Only Randalls knew why he spent most of his time trying to fly under the radar but he certainly never expected lying low to be such an invaluable trait to the army. 

“Who wins if no one gets picked?” said Randalls.

Stevenson laughed, “if no one gets picked the pot goes to Barnes. We’ve picked on him enough.”

“As if any of youse’re gonna make good on these bets,” said Bucky.

“Hey, we’s’re all gonna make good on the bets,” said Dobbs, mimicking Bucky’s thick accent. Bucky rolled his eyes, having his accent made fun of or imitated got boring by the first week. 

“You’re so lucky,” said Lewandowski. “Personally chosen by Carter.”

“He hasn’t been chosen,” said Randalls under his breath. 

“Chosen to go die sooner? What’s the fuckin’ point ‘a that?”

“You won’t die sooner,” offered Stevenson. 

“If it’s some top secret mission coming straight from London, hell yes I’m gonna die sooner. At least from here we’ve all got some rank. We’re all sergeants, we’ve all got plenty of men under us that’re gonna die before us and snipers aren’t known for bein’ in the thick of it. Whoever goes with Carter ain’t gonna have that, Hell whoever goes with Carter won’t even get to stop off at home before shippin’ out,” said Bucky.

A weird silence settled in. They all assumed Bucky would be going with Carter, so Bucky knew they were imagining his quick death. All but Dobbs who was staring him dead in the eye as he absentmindedly ran an old rag up and down the barrel of his gun. Bucky stared back but he wasn’t looking, he was lost in his own thoughts. Picturing Carter rolling up to base and snagging him from his platoon and throwing him across the Atlantic ocean without a chance to say goodbye to Steve. God, if he knew he might not come home from bootcamp he would’ve made that goodbye worth a hell of a lot more. 

“I’ll need addresses,” said Stevenson, breaking the tension. “If we’re gonna collect the money that is, I’ve gotta get something concrete. Lord knows we’re never gonna see each other again after basic.”

“What makes you say that?” said Randalls. 

Stevenson looked around like it was obvious. And it was. “We’re sergeants, we’re snipers. No troop needs two of those. The odds of stayin’ with your bootcamp buddies is slim already, it’s impossible for us.”

Bucky couldn’t tell if he’d miss them. He might miss Randalls. Might. But the other men instilled equal parts anxiety and comfort. Outside of this world he’d never look twice, never try to befriend them. But now that he was here he’d half heartedly befriended them. Enough that he hoped they didn’t die in the war, not enough that he’d be broke up if they didn’t make it.

 

 

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes tight, holding back groans that kept bubbling up. Randalls’s was getting better with his hands and Bucky was damn grateful for that but he still could never come as quick as Randalls. He was always second by a distant margin. Randalls tried to help him along with the wet kisses he pressed up and down Bucky’s neck. Those were far more hinderance than help. 

He shut his eyes tight and focused, and with a few deep and labored breaths he came over Randalls’s hand. The wet kisses against his neck moved up his jaw and threatened to land on his lips. Bucky turned away before he could. 

“Sorry,” mumbled Randalls. “Forgot you don’t do that one.”

“’S’okay,” grunted Bucky. 

Randalls turned to wash his hands, Bucky did the same. He always avoided looking in the mirror after a night like this with Randalls. It wasn’t a standing appointment but occasionally he’d tap Randalls’s foot on his way to the bathroom in the night and vice versa. Sometimes it was nice to have a little human contact especially as the date got closer. Their date of departure. When the U.S. army would be free to ship them wherever the hell they wanted.

“What the guys was sayin’ earlier, ‘bout you being the clear choice for Carter…They’re wrong. You’re not…you won’t go,” said Randalls.

“I’m cursed, Randalls, this would hardly be new territory for me.” Bucky splashed water on his face. 

“Call me Ben remember,” said Randalls. 

“Right,” said Bucky carelessly. There was something about using his first name that felt entire too intimate.

“I know you think you’re cursed or whatever but—”

“There’s no thinkin’ about it,” said Bucky. He tried to fix his dark hair in the mirror. There wasn’t enough light for him to be able to tell if he’d done more harm than good. “I live in a crap chute, this is just the cherry on top. And ya know…maybe it’s for the best.”

“What’s for the best?”

“What’re the odds of us makin’ out of this alive?”

“Don’t look at it like that.”

Bucky shrugged. “The odds aren’t good. And I figure it’s not such a bad way for a guy like me to die.”

Randalls stared at him with a blank face that Bucky couldn’t read, or maybe it was just too dark to read the clear emotion. Either way he didn’t care. 

“You sound like you wanna die,” said Randalls after a few tense beats of silence.

“It’s not that I want—“

“No you sound like you’re gonna walk into no man’s land soon’s you get deployed, Bucky. I get you’re in a worse position than most of us but you’ve already given up—What about that Steve guy huh, don’t you wanna stay alive for him?” spat Randalls.

“Don’t talk about him.” Bucky’s voice echoed around the bathroom tiles. Randalls took a step back.

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I don’t care what you mean to do, don’t say his name.”

“Bucky, I wasn’t trying to…” Randalls sighed, and shifted from foot to foot. “I want to be able to write you when this is all over. Maybe that’s selfish but I think we’re friends, and I don’t want my friend to get himself killed. I want you to try when we get deployed.”

“We’re friends now?”

“We’ve been friends,” Randalls took a step towards him, “least I thought we were. And if you won’t live for Steve, live for me.”

His closed fist connected with Randalls’s jaw, but he could’ve sworn he was going in for a slap. A light slap. Bucky didn’t mean it as hard as it happened. His eyes tried to adjust, to find Randalls on the floor, but the moon was dark that night. When Randalls hit the floor, Bucky had to paw aimlessly to find him and his hands. 

Bucky heaved him up from the floor, Randalls stumbled up. Bucky tried to inspect the damage, Randalls did the same in the mirror, but there just wasn’t enough light to be sure. No blood at least, Bucky was worried he got his nose. 

“We should head back to bed,” said Randalls, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…do that.”

“No no…you warned me not to say his name,” said Randalls, pressing the bruise that would no doubt form on his jaw.

“Don’t ask me to talk about it, it’s a mess with him and me right now,” began Bucky. Randalls put up his hands in surrender. 

“I wasn’t asking for an explanation, I know it must be hard.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay…thanks. And I do…I do want to live for him, don’t think otherwise…it’s just hard.”

Randalls nodded right back at him. “Didn’t mean to say otherwise.”

“Then…let’s go back to bed.”

Randalls went out first. Bucky decided long ago it was too suspicious for them to leave together so they went in shifts. Bucky waited a minute or two before padding out to his bunk. His knuckles hurt, they’d hurt worse tomorrow, so would Randalls’s jaw. His head got the mattress that night and he spooned his pillow. God he missed him. All the good with the bad he missed it all. It’d been bearable for so long. He got letters, he got Randalls, but knowing now that there was chance he’d never get to see him again before being thrown into the thick of the war made it unbearable.

 

 

 

“Fire!” called Sarge. Bucky still jumped when he called fire. He wondered why he shouted it like that. In battle when they were ready to fire they would just fire. And if orders were being followed it seemed counterintuitive to spook the sniper before his very precise shot had already been lined up. 

Bucky missed the target. Hadn’t done that all month and everyone noticed.

“Head in your ass, Barnes?!” screamed Sarge.

“Sir, no, sir!” replied Bucky. He learned to tune out the sound of himself saying that a long time ago. He said it too often to bother hearing it each time. 

“Fire straight next time, jackass! You think the enemy’s gonna give you a do-over?!” screamed Sarge.

“Sir, no, sir!” barked Bucky. 

“Fire!”

Bucky squeezed the trigger. Randalls, next to him, fitted a new magazine while Sarge judged his shot. Dead center on the target but that wouldn’t make up for missing the target entirely before. Thankfully, Lewandowski only grazed the target and was getting an earful about it himself. A few rounds later and they switched off. Randalls replaced Bucky on his belly and Bucky knelt by his rounds, ready to feed them through. He could do it mindlessly now, robotically. When he first noticed himself zoning out while fucking shooting, he wondered if anyone would notice and give him a severe punishment. But the more he zoned out and shot straight the more he realized that that’s exactly what the army hoped for. Robotic, thoughtless, accurate firing.

The run back was it’s usual Hell. Dobbs was wheezing through a story that no one was listening to. Bucky’s mind was everywhere and nowhere. Thinking of nothing at all but still racing. And it continued the entire run back. The snipers filed into the mess hall while the other recruits were just leaving. They scraped together their dinners and caught their breaths just as they all sat. 

“So what was up with you today Barnes?” said Dobbs through his food. “Missin’ a target’s not your style.”

Bucky shrugged. “Just missed.”

“You haven’t missed since before I can remember,” said Dobbs.

He shrugged again. “Sorry.”

“Leave Bucky alone, he’s still worked up about the Carter thing,” said Randalls.

All heads turned from Bucky to Randalls. 

“Who?” prompted Dobbs with an evil grin.

“Bucky?” laughed Stevenson. “Is that really your name?”

Bucky awkwardly nodded, thankful that he’d been chewing. He had a reason to be non verbal.

“The hell kinda name’s ‘Bucky’?” laughed Dobbs. That earned a few laughs around the table but Dobbs wasn’t smiling. “And more importantly why does Randalls know it?”

He swallowed his food, it scratched down his throat. “I don’t know, he just does.”

“I saw the name on his letters—“ offered Randalls.

“No you didn’t,” interrupted Dobbs, pointing to Randalls with his fork. “You don’t address a letter to a nickname and I know damn well his momma didn’t name him ‘Bucky’. So why do you know that name?”

Randalls tried, and failed, to laugh this off as one of Dobbs’s quirks. Dobbs never broke. Thankfully the other men were already bored of the topic and had moved on. But Dobbs’s eyes bore into Randalls who looked ready to crack. God, Bucky couldn’t go out like that. Couldn’t have his, up until now spotless, record ruined with Randalls spilling his guts in front of the other snipers. So he kicked Dobbs under the table to get his attention.

“Hey,” snapped Bucky. Dobbs turned his head to Bucky, his eyes locked on Randalls still until Bucky snapped in front of his face.

“What?”

“Your cheek’s almost healed,” said Bucky. The gauges Bucky’s fingernails had made so long ago were scarred over and beginning to pink up which meant, yes, they were healing. But they were still the first thing people saw when they saw Dobbs. Everyone, including Dobbs including Bucky, was constantly reminded of how vicious and brutal Bucky had been that one night. And he hated it, he hated thinking of himself as some monster who could snap at any moment. But for now, if Dobbs thought that of him, he’d be safe.

Dobbs ran a hand across his scars. “Yeah…yeah it is.” 

Bucky stared at him for a few tense seconds. He didn’t know, he couldn’t know, they’d been too careful. But he knew now that they were hiding something and that was already too much. Dobbs whipped back around to stare at Randalls who laughed at first but when Dobbs didn’t laugh he announced he was no longer hungry and left.

“So,” said Dobbs turning his attention back to Bucky, “funny name.”

“Well what’s yours?” said Bucky.

“Cut that out!” screamed Stevenson before Dobbs could answer.

“Why?” laughed Dobbs.

“God, it’s like namin’ a dog that just got run over. What’s the fuckin’ point of getting more attached when…” Stevenson’s words petered out, they all got the idea. And he had a point. He hated using Randalls first name, but now that he knew it he was definitely more likely to be upset should he die. Though maybe part of that was the handjobs.

“Well,” Dobbs stood and moved the table a few inches in his wake, “I’m stuffed.”

Bucky watched him leave the mess tent, following the same path Randalls had taken moments ago. And he grabbed the stale breadroll off of Dobbs’s tray.

 

 

 

A tap on his foot woke him. He rolled over just in time to see Randalls’s shadowy form heading to the bathroom. Bucky waited the minute and a half they allotted themselves before creeping out of his own bed. The wood creaked under his weight so he jumped the last foot and looked to check that his bunkmate was still asleep. And he was, dead asleep. 

The recruit on the top bunk next to Bucky was still dead asleep, he usually rolled over when Bucky’s bed creaked. Dobbs was supposed to be asleep on the bottom bunk, but his bed was empty. Bucky knew what that meant but he checked anyway. Checked the beds of the other snipers to find them all proudly empty. If he got back in bed and pretended Randalls hadn’t woken him they’d frag him in bed. If he walked into that bathroom he’d get a beating sure, but he’d have some dignity about it. 

He put on his boots, something he noticed the other men hadn’t done as all of their boots were still at the foot of their beds. And he marched his way to the bathroom. He threw the door open. The moon was finally full again and it bathed the bathroom in blue light. Where he could clearly see all of the snipers and Randalls waiting for him.

“We havin’ a sleepover?” said Bucky. He knew he should’ve been more anxious for the beating he was about to get but he was too tired for it. It’d been weeks of waiting for this to finally happen it was almost a relief that he didn’t have to wait any longer.

“I’m sorry,” muttered Randalls. Bucky just rolled his eyes, as if an apology would help.

Bucky wasn’t going to wait for them to start. He saw Dobbs in all of his five-foot-nine glory, and he lunged at him. He wasn’t worried this time about how vicious he was being or how far he was going. He hit Dobbs with everything he had, kicked him, and had a hand around his neck when the blows started landing on him too. A few punches in the back of the head, kicks to the back. He’d been expecting those, and he refocused on Dobbs lying beneath him in a daze.

“What’re you gonna do ‘Bucky’? Kiss me?” spat Dobbs through the choked breaths he took. Bucky punched him into the floor tile, once, twice, three times before someone pulled him off and threw him against a wall. He kicked his way out of those holds and clawed to get his hands around Dobbs’s neck again. And he squeezed, and he watched the arrogant grin on his face turn to panic. He reached for Bucky’s neck but couldn’t quite get there, just a few inches too short.

Seconds before Dobbs’s eyes rolled back, a bare foot connected with Bucky’s chin and sent him flying. Through the ringing in his ears he could hear Dobbs gasping for air. Bucky was vulnerable lying on the floor like that but he didn’t have the energy to move. He curled up as the other men stomped on him. He could do nothing on the floor but thankfully someone made the mistake of lifting him by his collar and throwing him against the sinks.

He had no interest in fighting them all off and proving some sort of point. Hell, he didn’t even care if they killed him. He just wanted to get to Dobbs. He had no idea what he’d do when he got there but that didn’t matter. Dobbs was curled on the floor, still coughing and trying to catch the breath Bucky had just wrung out of him. He shoved his way through Stevenson and Lewandowski and landed on Dobbs, a knee going straight into his stomach. 

It just got worse from there though Bucky would never be able to remember it clearly. He was hit in the back of the head again and it got fuzzy. But he remembered clawing at Dobbs’s jugular, drawing blood, and he remembered the horrible sound of Dobbs’s head bouncing off the tile underneath him when Bucky punched his jaw. And he remembered the audible, tangible crack of his arm when Bucky went too far. He stared Dobbs in the eye then, knowing what he’d done, and Dobbs feeling what he’d done. And there was a strange sense of indifference and calm, and unfettered rage, that filled Bucky. He didn’t care, he didn’t care he’d gone too far, and he wanted to go further. 

But he didn’t have the chance as the other men took his pause as an opportunity to pick him up and lay into him. Bucky’s didn’t feel most of the kicks and punches and bites. Too many hits to the head left him dizzy and disoriented. He knew he’d feel them in the morning but for now it was all numb. He settled in for the long haul of beatings. But it ended, as suddenly as it’d begun it ended when the lights were flicked on.

“What in the fuck is goin’ on in here?!” screamed Sarge. Everyone stopped, the only sound left was Dobbs groaning on the ground. “I said what the fuck’s going on?!”

There was blood in Bucky’s eye from a split eyebrow. He rolled onto his stomach and spit out the blood in his mouth, groaning as his body begged him to stay still. And he looked up at Sarge. He’d never seen any emotion other than anger and intensity on his face. But now there was hopelessness slathered all over him. It was novel and Bucky might’ve enjoyed it could he have seen it with both eyes.

“Randalls! Go get the nurses!” screamed Sarge.

“Sir, yes—” began Randalls.

“Just go!” Sarge whispered something to the lackey that had run in with him. Said lackey then sprinted out. “So, who wants to tell me what the fuck happened?”

Silence persisted, aside form Dobbs’s whining. Bucky clenched his sore jaw at the sound of his pathetic whining. As if he hadn’t started this fight, hadn’t asked for it. Sarge turned his attention to the lackey who was back at his side with a clipboard. Bucky decided he was already in deep, so why not finish it off. He used what little was left of his energy to put the army crawl he’d learned to good use. It hurt but he got to Dobbs in a heartbeat. Before any of the other snipers could drag him away he slammed a fist down on Dobbs’s chest. Once twice and then he was pulled by his ankle across the floor. Dobbs coughed and sputtered as his lungs forced any air out of him.

“Dammit Barnes!” yelled Sarge. One of the snipers, Bucky couldn’t see which, delivered another kick to his ribs. “Hey hey!”

Another kick came after that. Then a stomp on his knee that damn near snapped it. Then a kick to the face. What a blessing that was. A little disorientation for the rest of the beating. They got a few more hits in between Sarge begging them to stop, before a gun went off. That was enough to make everyone freeze. 

“Right!” said a voice. A british voice.

Stevenson was right, Carter was coming back, and there she was. Looking down at him with eyes full of anger and disappointment. A gun in one hand pointed at the ceiling, the other clenched in a fist. This wasn’t how he hoped a reunion with her might be but when had he ever been so lucky. Three or four nurses stood behind her, Randalls no doubt lost in that mess as well.

“Who here needs to visit the infirmary aside from these two?” said Carter. No one said a word. “Then you should all have no trouble carrying the stretchers.”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am,” replied the snipers in relative unison. It was then that Bucky gave in and passed out. The nurses filed in with the stretchers and laid them out next to Bucky and Dobbs. Bucky was rolled over the stretcher bar and into the cloth. The nurses instructed him to lay as flat as he could. Anything that wasn’t the fetal position hurt, hell even the fetal position hurt, but he laid flat.

“Two men a stretcher! Get moving, you won’t be sleeping in to accommodate this time!” barked Carter.

Bucky groaned and heard Dobbs doing the same the entire journey to the infirmary. Every stomp and step and bump along the way hurt like hell but they made it across camp to the relative comfort of their ramshackle infirmary. They were rolled out onto beds and given thorough inspections. He’d be bruised he knew, but nothing felt broken. According to the doctor his eyebrow needed stitches and he had a minor concussion but other than that he just needed time to heal. Bucky was spoonfed the most disgusting medicine he’d ever had and the nurse promised him he’d come to love the taste. He was sleeping minutes later.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been awhile hasn't it! I'm so sorry for the enormous delay, it's been a really taxing month and I didn't want to half-ass this since I've enjoyed writing it so much, I'm sorry that meant such a long wait time! The next chapter will DEFINITELY not take this long to post! Please comment if you like it, and thank you to those who've commented continuously! It really keeps me afloat

 

The alarm went off a few hours later. Bucky, in a state between sleep and waking, reached back and up towards the window sill. His hand slapped around blindly looking for the alarm clock before finally finding it and quieting it. His arm returned to where it’d been. Which he slowly realized was around Steve’s waist. 

It came back to him in pieces. Confusing, embarrassing, satisfying pieces. The more he remembered the tighter his grip got on Steve. He nestled between his shoulder blades, prepared to take the hit if he was late for his shift. 

“Buck,” said Steve. His hand prodded Bucky’s hand on his hip. “Buck, you’ll be late.”

He slipped out of bed in one quick motion. Bucky finally opened his eyes and watched him wordlessly head to the kitchen. He never turned around to give Bucky any looks. Bucky rubbed his tired eyes and sat up, staring into space for a few moments before forcing himself up and into the bathroom. 

There was a lot weighing on him, but his shift didn’t care about that. And he wasn’t about to lose money for the sake of emotional stability. He brushed his teeth and tamed his hair before shaving. No matter how much water he splashed on his face he wasn’t any less worried about having to walk into the kitchen and see Steve. He took his time getting dressed but eventually he had nothing left to do but eat and read the paper. 

He padded down the hall and turned into their tiny kitchen. There was Steve, sliding eggs onto a plate. Two eggs each today, that was usually reserved for special occasions. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk thinking that Steve thought this was worthy of a four egg breakfast. It gave him the confidence he needed to sidle up next to Steve and get the coffee brewing. 

“Morning,” said Bucky.

“Morning,” said Steve, his voice still hoarse from sleep. 

He’d run out of words. The only one he could think of after ‘morning’ was ‘coffee’ and maybe a few other words to ask if Steve wanted some. But other than that he had nothing to say. Plenty he wanted to know but no words to help him. So he poured them each a mug of their shitty, water-down coffee while Steve split their newspaper how they always split it and they read, and they ate, in complete silence. 

Bucky was damn near done reading all of the scores for football and baseball games he didn’t care about, hell he’d read about entire sports he didn’t care about. He knew there weren’t enough world events for Steve to still be reading so intently. Normally they’d talk, normally they’d joke or complain or make plans for lunch. None of that felt natural that morning. 

He said an almost silent goodbye to Steve who didn’t acknowledge he’d even left the table.

 

 

 

Bucky had no one to talk to about it. It wasn’t just his business anymore, it was their business and Steve wouldn’t talk to him long enough for them to decide what their business actually was. He gave Bucky quick good mornings, silent goodnights, and the occasional ‘you’re running late’. But the first night after the night, Steve stopped the silence long enough to ask why Bucky moved back to the cot.

Bucky, who spent that whole day being shunned, figured the answer was clear. Steve just wordlessly gestured for him to join him in his bed. So Bucky did. And Steve, once again, reached back and pulled Bucky’s arm around him. But none of that mattered, he still couldn’t look at Bucky. 

He didn’t want to even ask Steve’s permission to talk about it with someone else. He didn’t want Steve to know he was talking. There was so much tension in their apartment, in their silent conversations. Bucky was worried he’d come home from work one night to find Steve’s belongings cleared out and shipped out of town or something equally as drastic. Steve didn’t do anything if it wasn’t drastic.

“Coney Island this weekend?” said Marnie. She’d come by to drop off a late birthday gift for Steve who, as per usual, was out. 

“I don’t know,” said Bucky. He tried and failed to light the stove. Steve was prone to leaving and not saying when he’d be back these days but Bucky was determined to have dinner waiting for him. 

“What’s goin’ on. You don’t know where Steve is, you don’t know if you want to make plans, you haven’t spoken to me all week, hell you haven’t spoken to anyone all week. If it’s the bills or something I’m makin’ good money as a secretary and I can loan—“

“We got money,” said Bucky bluntly. 

“I was just offering a loan you don’t have to snap at me,” spat Marnie. 

Bucky gave up on lighting the stove and tried to crack his aching back. “I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just been a stressful week.”

“I thought it might be,” said Marnie.

Bucky turned around to face her. She hadn’t moved from her seat in Steve’s chair at their table. “What do you mean?”

“I sort of laid into Steve at the party,” sighed Marnie. “I didn’t mean to I just… the whiskey made it too easy. I went by the pharmacy the next morning but he wouldn’t come out of the back to see me.”

He shook out the match in his hand just before it burned him. He knew damn well Steve refused to see her that day because of the marks all over his jaw and neck. Marnie wouldn’t be fooled into thinking Rebecca left those. But he was curious about what exactly she’d said and this was the perfect chance to find out. He joined her at the table.

“He was pretty pissed at you. What’d you say?”

Marnie sighed. “I got jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of him,” laughed Marnie. “I got jealous about how much you love him and so I started calling him and you both…names.”

“What kinda names?” 

Marnie blushed and her eyes trained on her fingernails. “Queer and that sort…I deserved worse than that little shove he gave me.”

“What happened to ‘God not being mad about guys like me’,” teased Bucky. His smile faded when twin tears rolled down Marnie’s cheek. He sighed. She was the one calling him names, why was it his job to now comfort her for having done so? “Marns, it’s a joke. You were drunk and upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Marnie wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm. “I just can’t believe I said that. To Steve. On his fucking birthday. I’m your friend and I love you both so much and I get a few drinks in me and that’s what I fuckin’ say?!”

“Marnie, you’re apologizing. I forgive you.” In all honesty he did forgive her. He didn’t have time to be concerned over whether or not Marnie called him a queer in her drunken jealousy. But Marnie sure did have time to cry about it in his kitchen.

“Sorry, sorry,” muttered Marnie as she wiped more tears. “I just…he’s going through so much still and I’m not helping.”

“Marns, he’s already forgotten okay, it was a drunken mistake. He hasn’t even mentioned it,” said Bucky.

“He hasn’t?” Marnie looked up at him. Her eyes big and wet with surprise. “Didn’t you say him being upset about that made the whole week shitty?”

“I…did say that didn’t I…” said Bucky. He was no amateur in lying but he was no professional either. “Well, actually, I got no clue why he’s upset. I got suspicions but I’m pretty sure it’s just delayed mourning again. It comes up every once in a while.”

Marnie nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, of course…Poor thing.”

The door opened. Bucky jumped when he heard it be shoved out of its frame. And Steve walked in and took his shoes off before even realizing they had a guest. He looked up into the kitchen and saw Marnie. And saw her talking to Bucky. And saw her crying. And Bucky knew exactly what Steve thought had happened.

“Hi Steve,” said Marnie.

“Hi,” said Steve, his eyes locked on Bucky for the first time all week. 

“I need to get back home,” said Marnie. She stood, Bucky did the same. She kissed his cheek goodbye and hugged a very stiff Steve goodbye before letting herself out.

Bucky wasn’t sure if this counted as progress. Steve was looking at him, yes, but with murder in his eyes. But Bucky wanted to know what his reaction would be, wanted to know how much damage him venting to another person would really do. So he didn’t correct Steve just yet. He just watched his jaw clench. Watched his eyes dart around the room. And watched his chest rise and fall, faster and faster, and then too fast, and then too labored.

“Steve, Steve, stop you’re gonna work yourself into a fit,” said Bucky rushing to his side. Steve swatted away the hand Bucky attempted to rest on his shoulder. “Go sit on the couch, head between your knees, I’ll get water.”

Steve wheezed his way over to their couch, Bucky could hear his every move. No amount of years would ever train him for dealing with Steve’s asthma attacks. Steve wasn’t so great with them either. Their main form of treatment was trying to convince his lungs not to attack. Bucky sat at his side and counted his breathing out. He tried to put a hand on Steve’s back but that was swatted away as well. So he just kept count until Steve slowly sat back up and drank small sips of the water Bucky brought him. 

“You’re okay?” asked Bucky.

Steve nodded and sighed, a little worn out. “Did you tell her everything then?”

“Nothing,” said Bucky. Steve turned to him. “She came by to drop your gift off and gave me a teary apology about what she said at the party, that’s all.”

“You’re not lying?”

Bucky smirked. “No, I’m not lying.”

“Good.”

“Although,” began Bucky, “maybe I should tell her. This is the most you’ve said to me all week.”

“What’re you talkin’ about,” said Steve dismissively.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” said Bucky a bit louder than he planned to. 

“Sorry I haven’t been super chatty all week but any cold shoulder you’re feelin’ is in your head—“

“Oh fuck off.”

“Okay,” said Steve. He stood and walked away, Bucky heard him slam their bedroom door. He groaned and threw his head back. So close, so close to a conversation. 

 

 

 

The silence or near-silence lasted an eternity, they were coming up on three months now. Bucky learned to accept it as part of his life. The same way he came to accept sharing Steve’s bed again. No matter how silent Steve was all day, he ended every night holding Bucky’s hand tight against his chest. 

Bucky didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t want to talk about the weather much less what happened or what they made of it. And it was getting obvious to everyone else. They went to Coney Island with Rebecca and Marnie and the fact that neither he nor Steve could look at each other came up quite a few times. But after Bucky shot them both a warning look the jokes and questions stopped. 

“Is he just…a little down about his mom again?” asked Marnie. This was their fourth weekend out together where Steve wouldn’t look at Bucky for longer than a few seconds.

“Yeah something like that,” said Bucky dismissively. He and Marnie nestled on a bench and watched Steve and Rebecca throw balls at milk bottles. 

“Is he mad at you for something?” said Marnie.

“He could be,” said Bucky, not fully committing to the conversation.

“So why’s he mad at you?”

Bucky shrugged. “If I knew we wouldn’t be on week a hundred of the cold shoulder.”

“Want me to ask Becca if she knows what’s wrong?”

“She doesn’t know,” said Bucky. 

“I hate when you two fight,” groaned Marnie. 

“Me too.”

They rode the train home together. These days Marnie and Rebecca lived far enough apart that Bucky and Steve typically walked them home separately to make sure they got inside safe. Bucky kissed Marnie’s cheek goodnight and waved to Lara before heading back to the train station to get home. He saw Steve letting himself into their apartment just as he reached the bottom of their stairs. 

Knocking and waiting for Steve to let him in was out of the question. He pulled out his own key and undid the three locks they had. He threw the door open and two inches in it stopped dead. Bucky jostled the door before noticing the metal chain between the door and the wall.

“Steve! Come let me in,” called Bucky into the apartment. Steve said nothing as he closed the door and unlinked the chain for Bucky. He didn’t open the door again after he’d unlocked it. Bucky wasn’t sure why but that set him off. Maybe it was the last straw or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to fight. Either way he kicked the door open. Steve, on his way to the bedroom, nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky’s boot banged against the door.

“Jesus, Bucky! We can’t afford a new door!” 

Bucky paid him no mind and slammed the door closed behind himself. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?!” spat Steve.

“What’s wrong with me?!”

Instantly, Steve realized he’d pulled at a thread he didn’t even want to touch. He made an effort to cut the conversation off there by hurrying back to their bedroom, but Bucky followed and made sure he didn’t shut himself up in the bathroom. Bucky felt bad trapping him like this, forcing him to fucking talk, but if Steve wasn’t going to feel guilty about the silence he damn sure wouldn’t feel guilty about this.

“Buck, I’m tired—“

“All fuckin’ summer, I get no full sentences out of you! Nothing! I got no clue what the fuck you’re thinkin’ about or how you’re feeling or what you wanna do now that we’ve had sex—“

“BUCKY!” barked Steve. 

“WHAT?!” replied Bucky at an equal volume. 

Steve didn’t have a follow up. He just stared at Bucky. His big blue eyes getting watery and his hands getting fidgety. Bucky wanted to scoop him up and hold him. But he knew, he knew the second he tried to comfort that stubborn asshole he’d wriggle out of his arms and disappear for another few hours.

“We’re both tired, let’s go to bed—”

“Steve, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take it. I’ve spent too much of my life tiptoeing around you. It’s stupid, it’s fuckin’ ridiculous, that even now I can’t talk to you about it! Why’re you so quiet, why won’t you fuckin’ say a single word to me Steve huh? I understood it the first few days, hell I even understood it the first week, but an entire summer, Steve! What’ve you been thinking about all fuckin’ summer?!”

Steve stuttered on a few failed sentences before shrugging. “Buck, I don’t know what you wanna hear.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care what it is you’re feeling or thinking, I just wanna know. If you wanna hate me, or you wanna move out, or you wanna stay and go back to how it was, or stay and…whatever! I don’t care what you want I just wanna know what it is!”

“I don’t know what it is!” screamed Steve, his voice a little shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to tell you what I want when I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Guess!” screamed Bucky.

“God you’re so fuckin’ pushy!” 

“Pushy?! I’ve been waiting a fuckin’ summer for a few measly words, Steve!”

“You want ‘em so bad, have ‘em! I love you! You happy, you happy now you heard it, asshole?! Will you fuckin’ leave me alone now?!” spat Steve.

That’s not how he wanted it. Maybe he’d pushed Steve to that point but it was just to get a conversation out of him not an angry confession. The disappointment or sadness or regret or whatever it was must’ve read on Bucky’s face because Steve visibly softened. 

“Sorry…I shouldn’t have…” began Steve, “I don’t know what I want from you or from myself okay. I want you, you know I do obviously—“

“So have me!” Bucky opened his arms with a flourish and the anger reignited in Steve.

“What happens in the longterm, dumbass?! We’re dealin’ with the rumor about this now and you and me and our friends get into fights all the time because of it! What you think we’re gonna be happy just livin’ like this, Buck?! You’re not thinkin’ longterm and it’s gonna wind up with both of us dead!” screamed Steve.

“I haven’t thought longterm?!” Bucky was tempted to storm out right then, but no, he had more yelling to do. “I’m fuckin’ living the longterm! I got beat half to hell and kicked out of my house for it! Maybe for you it was just a taste of it but this has been my life for a long fuckin’ time!”

“Well maybe I don’t want that for me! Maybe I don’t want to have people whispering about me every where I fuckin’ go!” 

“You’re a coward!” 

“A coward?!”

“You heard me! You’re too much of a pussy to admit what you are to yourself, to me, to anyone! Too afraid of everyone else! You’ll end up miserable because of it and you’ll deserve it!”

“Oh so, because I won’t tell the whole neighborhood, I’m a pussy?!”

“Tell me, right now!” Bucky held his breath, Steve stayed silent. “See you can’t even say it here! I’m sick of it, Steve! I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired! I love you, so much it hurts! But if this is how it’s gonna be Steve, I gotta go.”

“What do you mean go?” Steve’s voice was croaky now from the yelling, either that or he was holding back tears. 

“I’d wait as long as it took, I’d wait my whole life for you, Steve. But that doesn’t do us any good. Just tell me, Steve. Tell me if I’m waitin’ for no reason, tell me now if you’re gonna pretend we never slept together, I can’t do it anymore,” said Bucky.

“Bucky I don’t know!” screamed Steve. “I need time to think!”

“I’ve waited for fuckin’ years, Steve! Since we were still in school! I can’t wait anymore!” 

“Sorry if I was too busy dealing with both of my parents dying to worry about what china patterns we’d be pickin’ out for the wedding!” screamed Steve. “Sorry but I don’t know what I want from you! If you ever wanna know, I need time!”

“How much more time, Steve! How much! I can’t sit here in a silent apartment indefinitely! I have feelings too Steve! You ever think about them huh?! When you won’t look at me in the mornings but you expect me to hold you all night?! Do you ever think about what you’re doing to me?!”

The silence that filled the room proved that no, he hadn’t thought about what it did to Bucky. The only sounds breaking the silence was Bucky’s panting and the broomstick from upstairs and downstairs banging on their floor and ceiling. 

“You know what, fuck this,” said Bucky. He stormed out of the bedroom, he heard Steve following behind him. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the top shelf. 

“What’re you doing?” said Steve as calmly as he could.

“I’m going! Maybe you’ll have some time to think while I’m gone,” spat Bucky.

“Buck, where’re you gonna go huh? You got nowhere to go,” said Steve as Bucky opened the door. He could still hear him mutter similar phrases after he’d slammed the door.

 

 

 

He needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t beat him. He took cautious sips of his whiskey along the way and hid it in his jacket otherwise.

Marnie was out of the question, she wouldn’t keep it under wraps well enough. If he couldn’t talk to Marnie, he couldn’t talk to Lara since they lived together. Rebecca was out of the question for obvious reasons. Tommy he could talk to in theory, but his new apartment was two train rides away. In the daylight that took about ten minutes but the trains came slower at night. 

So he went the one place he had a chance at being welcome. Matthew and Marcus’s. They were within walking distance thankfully. Bucky was just buzzed enough that he didn’t care about the chance that he woke them. He banged on the door with a closed fist and no hesitation. And he kept going until it opened. Matthew stood in the doorway fully dressed and awake. 

“What’s this about?”

“Can I come in?” said Bucky.

“Depends,” Matthew tapped the bottle in his jacket, “You sharin’?”

Bucky nodded and Matthew stepped aside and let Bucky in. Matthew disappeared into his kitchen and told Bucky to take a seat somewhere. Bucky chose the couch and set the bottle down on the coffee table. When Matthew returned, he poured them each two weighted shots and sat back into the cushions.

“So? Showing up here with whiskey at,” he checked his watch, “one in the morning. Unusual. Especially since I know you have a shift in like five hours.”

“Rough night.” Bucky’s voice sounded gruff. 

“You didn’t show up here just to drink. Go ahead and start blabbing about your feelings or whatever, I got work in the morning too,” said Matthew mostly into his glass.

“I fucked Steve,” said Bucky. It came out easier than he thought it would. He looked to Matthew to try and gauge if he needed to run. Matthew’s eyes opened wide, his eyebrows raised higher than Bucky’d ever seen them go, and he fought to keep from coughing up the whiskey halfway down his throat. “Alright?”

Matthew nodded between coughs. “Just didn’t expect for you to blurt it out like that.”

“Neither did I,” said Bucky, a smile creeping across his face. 

“So…how was it?” said Matthew sounding very unsure of himself. 

“That’s not why I came here,” said Bucky.

“Thank God.” Matthew downed the rest of his drink and poured another. He refilled Bucky’s glass in the process. “So what’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Bucky. It wasn’t until he said it that he realized it was true. There was too much in his head to pluck one emotion or sentiment from it. Not neatly anyway and he didn’t want to completely unravel on Matthew’s couch this late in the night. 

“Well I’m glad you came here for that,” said Matthew. “Wanna try a little harder?”

Bucky grinned and took the whiskey back. Whiskey wasn’t for taking shots, he knew that, but it put him at ease and he needed that more than he cared about the impending hangover. Matthew’s knee hit his, prodding him for an answer. Bucky noticed how close he was sitting, how hot he was getting in that little living room. 

“He won’t look at me anymore,” said Bucky. Matthew cocked his head. “He doesn’t wanna talk. About anything. Hasn’t said two words to me all summer. And I don’t know, I’m sick of it.”

“Yeah I noticed when we went fishing and I was the only one talking,” Matthew laughed when he was uncomfortable, always had. Him laughing now meant Bucky was right to be upset. He turned to meet Matthew’s eyes, they looked sympathetic, kind. Deep brown. 

“It’s fucked up isn’t it?” said Bucky, his words were starting to slur. That usually meant he was about to start saying shit he regretted.

“It is. But that’s how Steve’s always been. He’s not good with dealin’ with shit,” said Matthew. He put an arm around Bucky and squeezed. 

“What’s that for?” said Bucky with an awkward laugh. 

“To make you feel better,” said Matthew sounding defensive.

Matthew wasn’t good at comforting people, he was good with advice and support but not comfort. And Matthew feeling so uncomfortable made Bucky feel he needed to fill the silence. The only thing Bucky could think of in the moment tumbled right out of his mouth without clearance from his brain. “Remember when you asked me if I ever felt anything for you and I said no?”

“Uh…yeah, I remember.” Bucky could feel Matthew’s fingers start to go slack around his bicep.

“I lied, I had a crush on you in junior high. Didn’t wanna admit what it was but I had a few dreams about you,” said Bucky. And he was lying then too. He never had feelings for Matthew he just liked the way he looked and had one dream, singular, about him. He wasn’t sure why he was lying or what he hoped it would get him. When he looked back to Matthew, he felt Matthew’s attempt at a comforting hug start to loosen. 

“You’re joking right?” said Matthew.

Bucky wanted to lean in. Wanted to get some comfort from someone else, someone who would give it to him. It suddenly didn’t matter that Matthew wasn’t like him, that Matthew was just drunk, that Matthew wasn’t Steve. He just wanted someone to look at him, touch him, notice him. But he wasn’t drunk enough to risk the one ally he had for an end to his desperation. Or, fuck it, maybe he was. 

He pressed their lips together. Matthew made the strangest sound, Bucky could hardly describe it. Like a radio losing all of it’s power in a blackout. Matthew turned his head and Bucky’s lips dragged across his cheek.

“What’re you doing?” said Matthew.

“Don’t know,” replied Bucky, pulling away from Matthew’s cheek.

“What about Steve,” offered Matthew, holding Bucky at arms length.

“What about him?!” spat Bucky. “He won’t even look me in the eye, I could give a shit what he thinks!”

“You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I won’t,” said Bucky, pouring himself another finger of whiskey. He was drinking it too fast, they both were. 

“I might,” laughed Matthew. 

“Might?” repeated Bucky. 

Matthew stuttered over his own words a few times while Bucky stared him down for an answer. It was rare to see Matthew unsure of himself and Bucky couldn’t help but enjoy it. But that uncertainty didn’t last long. Matthew knocked back the rest of his drink and groaned. 

“Fuck it.”

“Fuck what?” asked Bucky. His question was answered when Matthew’s tongue met his. 

It wasn’t the sparks and the excitement and the exhilaration he felt with Steve. And it wasn’t the comfort or safety or love he felt with him either. But it was better than being ignored. Hell of a lot better than being ignored. Matthew wasn’t afraid of him, he touched where he wanted to, tugged at his hair, ripped buttons off his shirt, and was generous with his thigh between Bucky’s legs. 

“Get the fuck upstairs,” husked Matthew. 

“Really?” said Bucky into the shell of his ear. 

Matthew responded with a bite to Bucky’s neck. “That’s where I’m gonna be.”

Just as quickly as he’d jumped on Bucky, he stood. His hands weren’t shaking when he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and siphoned off two enormous gulps. He coughed and fought to keep them down as he handed the bottle to Bucky. From where Bucky was, splayed out on the couch, Matthew looked ten feet tall. He held a hand out for Bucky to take, and he took it. Matthew hoisted him to his feet and lead the way up the stairs. 

 

 

 

Matthew collapsed next to him once he finally finished. A mix of the whiskey and Bucky’s body gave him some trouble. He didn’t want to say it and make it worse but Bucky noticed. Bucky wondered why he wouldn’t just shut his eyes and pretend he was with a girl. But then again he couldn’t imagine much about his body that was easy to find feminine. 

“Good job, Barnes.” Matthew patted his chest to punctuate the thought. 

“You too, Donovan,” replied Bucky. 

“My main complaint is I bruise. You’re probably gonna feel it in the morning.” Matthew reached across Bucky for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table.

Bucky didn’t bruise easily, especially not after his days spent working the docks. But Matthew was rough and hard and animalistic. He’d never been with a girl like that and God knew Steve wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was black and blue all over the next morning. 

“Smoke?” said Matthew. Bucky hadn’t smoked in months. It was just too inconvenient with Steve and he didn’t really miss it all that much. But he took one anyway and Matthew lit it for him. 

“You…done that before?” asked Bucky. 

Matthew laughed. “I haven’t been a virgin since I was fourteen.”

“No I meant with…” began Bucky. Matthew looked at him when he didn’t finish the sentence and Bucky gestured vaguely to himself.

“Oh,” Matthew laughed deeper this time, “yeah all the time.”

“Seriously?” said Bucky.

“No, dipshit,” Matthew rolled his eyes. 

“So why me—“

“If I knew why, I’d tell you,” snapped Matthew. 

“You’ve never even thought about it until now?”

“If you wanna talk about this so bad why don’t we talk about Steve?”

“Point taken,” said Bucky.

“What time’s your shift tomorrow?”

“Starts at six,” replied Bucky. Matthew reached across him again and grabbed the alarm clock of his side table. 

“Five should be early enough right?”

Bucky nodded and watched Matthew as he adjusted the alarm. He was so different from Steve. He was full of lean muscle and where the sharp angles on Steve’s body came from his mother and her delicate features, the sharp angles of Matthew’s nose and jaw and brow were all from his father. He oozed masculinity in a way Bucky never did, never wanted to. He didn’t even flinch when some of his cigarette ash landed on his flat stomach. He was all wrong.

“Alright, set that on the side table, I’m wiped.” He handed Bucky the clock.

“I can stay the night?” said Bucky. 

“No I’m just setting your alarm for you in case you can hear it from your own apartment,” deadpanned Matthew. He handed Bucky his cigarette. “Put that out for me, lets go to sleep.”

Bucky put out both of their cigarettes and tugged the pull-chain on the bedside lamp and the room went dark. They fell asleep back to back. Though it had been tormenting him all summer, he found he could barely get to sleep without wrapping his arms around Steve.

 

 

 

He threw the alarm clock off the sidetable when it dared to go off the next morning. His head didn’t hurt though, that was a plus. The fuzzy memories of the night before crept back into his mind. He laid in bed processing it for a few moments before he noticed he was alone. Alone in the bed, alone in the room. He got up and tried to gather his clothes. The buttons on his shirt were all torn off, and the zipper on his pants was busted. Perfect. He let himself into the bathroom and assessed the damage. 

Matthew was right, he bruised. All down his neck and jaw were dark marks that he’d have to explain later. He combed his hair into place and tried to look more put together than he was before he dared descend the stairs. He only made it to the top when he heard voices and smelled bacon frying. Matthew and Marcus were up and about and no doubt talking about him.

Bucky took a step, hoping to hear them a bit clearer, but the step squeaked and creaked and screamed as Bucky put weight on and took weight off of it. Matthew turned the corner, around the wall separating the living room and kitchen and offered him a weak and uncomfortable smile. He eyed Bucky’s clothes, completely destroyed from his manhandling. 

“You can borrow something of mine,” said Matthew. “Unless you like turning up to work looking like a tramp.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Bucky. Bucky knew his neck and jaw were a mess and Matthew had bitten too hard on his lower lip. But Matthew wasn’t looking so good either, Bucky’d definitely left traces of himself all over. Marcus was quick to join Matthew out in the living room, damn near falling over his own feet to see if it was real, if Bucky was really there. 

“Christ, you two really did a number on each other.”

Matthew slapped his chest with the back of his hand. Bucky retreated into Matthew’s bedroom and searched for something his size. Matthew was only two inches taller but his legs were longer. Bucky felt like a school kid in hand-me-downs with Matthew’s pant legs almost covering his shoes. At least the shirt fit okay.

“Want breakfast before you go? You’re a little closer to the docks over here so you’ve got time I think,” said Matthew. 

“Uh…” began Bucky as he tucked his shirt in. “I’ll eat something on the way.”

“Good,” said Matthew. Bucky looked at him with fake hurt on his face. “I—I only meant Marcus is really hungry and I…wasn’t sure we’d have enough.”

“Sure you did.” Bucky laughed a hollow laugh and sidled past Matthew to find the belt Matthew threw across the room the night before. He found it nestled in magazine rack. He slipped it around his waist and buckled it hastily before tugging his jacket on. Matthew loitered around him, waiting to see him out. 

“Barnes,” said Matthew as he opened the front door, “can we just forget it?”

“I don’t know, can we? You’re not gonna give me the cold shoulder too now are ya?” Matthew shook his head with strange sincerity. “Then consider it forgotten.”

 

 

 

He could take the teasing from the guys at work that he’d been with a real devil the night before. He told them her name was Annabelle mainly because he’d never met an Annabelle and he thought it’d be easier to make a girl up that way. As far as his colleagues were concerned, it was Annabelle’s doing. That worked on the other dock workers who knew him only by last name and by sexual exploits that were only half true, that wouldn’t work on Steve. 

He didn’t even know if he was sorry anymore. He knew he probably should’ve been but he was choosing to defend himself. He’d spent too long waiting for Steve to tell him anything. And when he finally thought they might be moving forward they took ten giant leaps backwards and that just wasn’t his fault, the summer of silence and civility was not his fault, finding comfort somewhere reliable was not his fault. Or maybe it was, who knew? He couldn’t really decide if he was in the right or the wrong without talking it out with Steve, and he had no idea if Steve would even be there when he got home.

His shift ended at 5 but he didn’t want to go home. He wandered to the park he used to visit more often when they were kids. It was a shitty park between their school and their neighborhood. The grass was half mud and the trees were never higher than about ten feet but it had benches. So Bucky claimed a bench to himself and decided he’d just wait there until Steve fell asleep.

“Bucky!” called a voice. It didn’t matter who it was at that point, Bucky didn’t want to see anyone. He tried to stay perfectly still and pretend he hadn’t heard, he’d already eliminated running away at full sprint as an option. “Buck!”

An out of breath Tommy had no qualms about plopping down next to him. “Haven’t seen you in a while…What happened to your neck?”

“Not important,” said Bucky. 

“Are those…hickeys?” Tommy chuckled. Bucky could practically hear Tommy’s stomach drop. Rebecca and Tommy were the only people in his family that knew about him and didn’t mind. But there were conditions to that acceptance. Rebecca’s only condition was that he didn’t steal Steve. Tommy’s only condition was that he didn’t have to, in any way, be made aware of any facet of his sex life. That’d been easy since for a long time, Bucky didn’t have one anymore. 

He wanted to tell him to just leave, he knew he didn’t want the gory details or indeed the clean details. He didn’t want to know but he wasn’t getting up to leave.

“Yeah they are,” said Bucky.

“From…who?” Tommy kept clearing his throat. An old nervous tick that pissed Bucky off to no end.

Bucky turned to look at him, sure enough he was bright red and sweaty. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I wanna know,” said Tommy. And that was the truth. He hated the process of finding out and he really hated seeing physical evidence of it on Bucky but he didn’t want to be in the dark.

“I fucked Steve.” That phrase was leaving his mouth shockingly easy these days.

“Oh,” said Tommy. He went from blushing bright red to having no color at all. “God.”

Bucky leaned back against the bench, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Tommy leaned back with him, looking defeated almost. Bucky wasn’t sure why, nothing he’d done effected him. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” repeated Bucky.

“So you’re…really that way huh?” said Tommy after a few awkward beats of silence. Bucky nodded. “Rebecca’s gonna be crushed.”

“Why?” said Bucky.

Tommy choked on a laugh. “You fucked her boyfriend.”

“Oh that.”

“‘Oh that’,” mocked Tommy.

“It’s just…I don’t know what Steve and I are doin’ right now,” said Bucky.

“Those hickeys say you know damn well.”

“He didn’t do these,” Bucky paused to see the blood rise back up into Tommy’s cheeks. He couldn’t help it, it was fun to make him squirm and God knew he needed a little fun. “It happened on the fourth of July and he just shut down. Wouldn’t talk to me about anything. Last night when I got home the chain was on the door. He came to undo it but he…” Bucky laughed to himself, recounting the inciter for their argument out loud to someone else made it sound so small, “he didn’t open the door again after he’d unlocked it. Just let me stand out there.”

“Wow…how evil,” deadpanned Tommy.

“It was the last straw. We got into a huge argument about it and I ended up…stayin’ somewhere else,” said Bucky. 

“With who?”

“Why’re you askin’ shit you don’t wanna know about?”

“I don’t want the details but I’m too nosy to survive without knowing who it was.”

“You can’t tell—“

“That’s a given with all of this okay.”

“It was Matthew.” 

“As in…” Tommy cleared his throat a few times, Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Donovan.”

There was a painfully long silence that followed. Bucky stared at him the entire time, gauging his reaction. A smile broke across his face and he tried to hide it but he knew Tommy saw. It wasn’t a grin at how uncomfortable he’d made his poor brother, it was that he’d told him at all. He hadn’t spent days carefully measuring how he’d react, hadn’t gone to extreme measures to coverup what happened or construct a lie around the truth. He’d just told him straight out what his summer had been like. He wondered, if he could tell his younger self there would be a point where the truth didn’t terrify him, if he’d believe it.

“You’re turnin’ guys left and right,” said Tommy finally.

“I don’t think I turned Matthew, he had trouble keeping it up—“

“That’s already more than I wanted to know.”

Bucky smirked. “He more than made up for it with his mouth—“

“Alright!” laughed Tommy, cutting him off as loudly as he could. “I get it, you fucked.”

“I didn’t think I’d have all this to hide,” Bucky gestured to the hickeys.

“Please, please don’t tell me anything else about how Matthew is in bed.” Bucky stifled a laugh and he heard Tommy do the same. “But what’s it matter if you’re all bruised?”

“Steve…” said Bucky vaguely.

“Listen…Buck,” Tommy put an hand on his shoulder, “if you fucked him and he stopped talking to you for three months…I think that’s a pretty clear message.”

“I don’t know,” said Bucky. “I think there’s more to it.”

“If you say so.” Bucky could feel Tommy wanted to say something more and was gearing up to do so. Anything to with all of this made him squirm and cringe and blush, he hated it but he was trying and that meant something. “Buck, I know you really…love him and shit, and honestly you two seemed kind of destined maybe…but he’s not the end all be all. World’s not over if he says no.”

Bucky smirked and clapped Tommy on the shoulder. “I know. But thanks.”

 

 

 

Bucky took his time climbing the stairs, the sun was down and the streetlights were on and his feet felt like cement blocks. He contemplated sleeping on the stoop but he decided that was more pathetic than admitting what he’d done. And he still wasn’t entirely clear on whether or not he was even in the wrong. He’d know more when he saw Steve, if he saw Steve.

He unlocked the two locks on their door and shoved it out of the door jamb. He didn’t call out for Steve, he scanned the kitchen and living room as he slipped his boots off. No one. He shut the door and locked it and padded as quietly as he could to the bedroom. Steve was in his usual spot on the fire escape, sketchbook in his lap and dinner sitting next to him in a bowl. He didn’t want to sneak up on him but he did need a few seconds of preparation before anyone said anything. Bucky took two deep breaths and climbed out there with him. Steve didn’t flinch.

“Hey.” He set his sketchbook to the side and watched him climb through the window. His eyes were focused intently on the bruises covering Bucky’s neck. “Hey…” he repeated.

“Hi,” replied Bucky. He sat down by Steve and let him look, let him take in the sight of all he’d done the night before. Steve took his time and Bucky didn’t rush him.

“I was worried you slept outside last night…but I guess not,” said Steve.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. He felt the anger, no the rage, from the night before bubbling in him again. Maybe he’d made some mistakes but if Steve wasn’t going to shoulder any of the blame he’d march right back to Matthew’s bed. 

“Listen,” began Steve, his eyes left Bucky and focused on the apartment building across the road from theirs, “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and all night last night. And I really fucked up.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. When Steve was wrong it was because he was too passionate and angry about something and one of his biggest flaws was getting him to admit that he’d burned a trail in the wrong direction. 

“Yeah.” Steve put the bowl of stew in his lap and fiddled with the spoon, never taking a bite. “You were right. I’m a coward, I was too afraid to just…And I wasn’t thinking about your feelings, at all. I just…treated you like shit and when you tried to find out why I…I’m not proud of what I said.”

“I don’t remember you saying all that much,” said Bucky. 

“Buck…I love you. Honestly. And I can’t believe…that the first time I ever said that to you I screamed it to make a point in a fight,” sighed Steve. “You really deserve better than me, Buck. I’m too afraid to be what you want, I’m too stubborn and naive and cowardly and—“

“Shut up,” said Bucky. Steve turn to him with big blue teary eyes. “Just shut up.”

He cupped Steve’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone, and kissed him. Just enough. Not too deep not too light, just perfect. He knew it was just perfect when he felt Steve’s hand tentatively touch his chest. Not to push him away this time but to feel him there. Bucky strayed and put purposeful kisses along his jaw and across his cheeks, anywhere he could.

“I love you too, Steve,” said Bucky as he pulled away. “And I’m sorry for what I did last night. I was just so angry and sad and I swear I didn’t go out looking for it. It just started happening and I was just…that lonely that I said yes.”

“I don’t care,” said Steve with a teary grin, “it was my fault you left, I drove you away. And this thing of ours…we never established rules or anything so it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, I don’t care.”

“You’re sure?” 

Steve nodded.

“‘Cause it was—”

“Don’t,” interrupted Steve. “I got no right to know who it was.”

“You’re sure?” said Bucky with a wince. 

Steve threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair and nodded. “I’m sure. That’s none of my business.”

Bucky stared at him. Steve’d always been beautiful but he looked even more so in that moment. “Finally,” whispered Bucky.

Steve grinned and leaned into Bucky. They’d kissed before, hell they’d fucked before, but it felt new. Every touch and breathless moan felt entirely brand new to Bucky, like the first time all over again and he couldn’t get enough. He would’ve taken Steve right there on their fire escape. And as Steve laid back against the cold wrought iron he wondered if might end up having to take him right then and there.

“Whoa, whoa,” laughed Steve, pulling away just enough to speak, “let’s go inside.”

Steve threw his sketchbook in the window and fell through onto his bed. The bed creaked under Steve’s weight, and screamed when Bucky climbed in next to him. He knelt awkwardly on the mattress and tugged the curtains as closed as he could. He might’ve kept trying to shut them all the way had Steve not pulled him down on top of him. Bucky landed too hard and wanted to pull away to apologize but Steve wouldn’t let him. And so Bucky fell into it. Fell into the feeling of Steve underneath him, his legs around him, his tongue pressed to his own. He wanted more of him. And he knew Steve did too. For the first time in a long time he could tell exactly what Steve wanted. And he needed to give it to him.

“Slow down,” sighed Steve into his mouth when Bucky ground their hips together.

“Sorry,” breathed Bucky into Steve’s ear. 

Steve laughed and carded his hands through Bucky’s hair, gently scratching his scalp. He caught Bucky’s lips in another kiss as Bucky struggled to tear his jacket off. “Buck?”

“Mhm?”

“’S it gonna hurt?” asked Steve with an awkward laugh. 

“We don’t have to do it like that,” replied Bucky.

He leaned back down, his lips making their way up Steve’s neck, to his jaw, but Steve stopped him before Bucky could reach his mouth.

“What is it?” began Bucky.

“I wanna do it like that,” said Steve.

A shiver went up Bucky’s spine. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s legs locked behind Bucky’s hips to punctuate the thought. Bucky absentmindedly rolled his hips against Steve. He was already barely holding on, he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds if he got inside Steve. But he’d take it however short it was.

“Okay,” said Bucky into Steve’s neck. It didn’t feel real. It felt better. But he still shook when he unbuttoned Steve’s shirt. His hands were clumsy and jittery and he tried to laugh it away but it wouldn’t go. Steve covered Bucky’s hands with his own.

“Why’re you shaking?” 

“No clue,” replied Bucky with a grin. Steve grinned back and sat up just enough to help Bucky tug his shirt off. The rest of their clothes came off a little faster, a little more desperation behind their movements, a little more excitement. 

Once they were bare and clawing at each other to get more, Steve nervously fumbled around looking for the vaseline. He handed it off to Bucky and laid back down. Steve was working hard to hide it, but Bucky could see Steve trembling. 

“You’re sure about this?” said Bucky, a hand kneading one of Steve’s thighs, hoping to calm him.

“I’m positive, I’ve just never done this before,” said Steve.

“Neither have I,” laughed Bucky. 

“You haven’t?” Steve propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Bucky. “What about…last night…”

“We didn’t do all this,” said Bucky. He leant down and pressed a light kiss to Steve’s lips. Then a deeper kiss to lay him back down and hopefully relax him. Bucky didn’t know much about this, but he knew being tightly wound wouldn’t help anyone. “You’re the first.”

“I’m honored,” deadpanned Steve. “But seriously…will it hurt?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Bucky must have used half the tub of vaseline on his fingers and it never felt like enough. Steve’s face would twist up in pain then quickly relax back into pleasure and Bucky never knew what caused either so instead he focused on getting him ready for the main event. 

Eventually Steve was begging for him to move on so Bucky obliged and used the rest of the vaseline to make sure he didn’t hurt Steve. Although, it became clear, that that would be inevitable. Steve held onto him, clawing at his back and biting back groans and grimaces. Bucky went slow and whispered quiet apologies but they were intercut with his guttural moans. 

“You alright?” said Bucky once he was fully seated in Steve.

Steve nodded but couldn’t speak. Telling him to relax would only make it worse so Bucky rubbed circles into his hip and let his hand trail up his body, and pressed soft but firm kisses against his neck and shoulder. He’d waited this long, a few more minutes to let Steve adjust wasn’t going to kill him. 

“How does it feel?” said Steve, his voice strained and uneven still.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” murmured Bucky against Steve’s jaw. 

“Oh yeah?” said Steve with a choked laugh. “Go ahead, move.”

“I can wait,” said Bucky, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Move,” repeated Steve against Bucky’s lips. “But be gentle.”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice. Steve winced when he rolled his hips, and clutched Bucky’s arm for dear life. Bucky babbled out an apology that Steve wouldn’t accept, he asked for more. So Bucky gave it to him. And the wincing quickly turned to soft, barely audible moans that Steve was trying to bite back. And then his whole body shook, and his nails dug into Bucky’s shoulder. 

“You okay?” asked Bucky in a panic. 

“Do that again,” replied Steve. Bucky didn’t know what he’d done so he just moved his hips again, hoping to give Steve what he wanted. When Steve’s legs trembled again, Bucky knew he’d done something right.

“Feel good?” said Bucky. Steve nodded and pulled Bucky against him with his legs. 

He still had to be careful but he didn’t have to be so slow. He buried his face in Steve’s neck and tried, desperately, to get Steve to come first. He didn’t want it over so soon on his account. But he was too lost in Steve to even attempt distracting himself from the orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach. Steve felt too good, too perfect. It’d be a crime to distraction himself from him.

“Steve,” groaned Bucky in his ear. “Baby, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Me too,” said Steve. 

“Thank God,” laughed Bucky. He worked his fist up and down Steve’s cock faster, and tighter, and did his best to hit that spot inside him though he never really knew when he’d been successful. 

Steve drew blood with his grip and Bucky didn’t give a shit. He obeyed Steve’s pleas for ‘harder’, ‘deeper’, ‘faster’, and ‘more’. His tired muscles were begging him to stop but he wouldn’t dare. Not until Steve was done with him. It was a matter of seconds before Steve came. Over Bucky’s hand and his own stomach. His whole body shuddered when he did. Bucky was quick to follow. He couldn’t help but be impressed with himself for lasting as long as he did but he’d gloat about that another time. 

Once he caught his breath, he held himself up above Steve. He pushed the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead and didn’t try to fight the smile tugging at his mouth. Steve, flushed pink and exhausted, smiled back at him. 

“Good?” asked Bucky.

“Good,” replied Steve.

Bucky reached for one of their discarded shirts to clean Steve’s stomach. Once he had, he chucked the shirt and rolled to lay by Steve’s side. He ran a hand through Steve’s sweat-damp hair and kissed his temple. Steve’s eyes were opening slower and slower between blinks but he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep yet.

“I love you,” mumbled Bucky, not sure and not caring if Steve heard.

“Sap,” teased Steve. Bucky nuzzled closer and wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist. “I love you too though.”

“Sap,” said Bucky.


End file.
